The  Compromises  of  Life 


The 
Compromises  of  Life 

AND  OTHER  LECTURES  AND 
ADDRESSES 

Including   Some  Observations  on 

Certain  Downward  Tendencies 

of  Modern  Society 

By 
HENRY   WATTERSON 


Copyright,    1903,    by 
FOX,    DUFFIELD    &    COMPANY 

Published,   October,    1903 


<Cbe  ijCrotB  pres?,  Jftcw  gorfc 


Publishers'  Note 

In  issuing  this  volume  of  "Lectures  and  Addresses  " 
the  publishers  are  induced  by  many  considerations  to 
believe  that  they  meet  a  requisition  of  the  reading  pub 
lic.  Few  writers  in  the  last  three  decades  have  been 
more  noted,  few  speakers  heard  by  larger  audiences, 
than  the  editor  of  the  Louisville  Courier-Journal.  As 
the  successor  of  Prentice,  he  carried  forward  the  work 
of  that  eminent  and  brilliant  man  to  yet  further 
achievement;  succeeding,  before  he  was  thirty  years  of 
age,  in  combining  the  newspapers  of  the  Kentucky 
metropolis  and  in  creating  out  of  the  union  a  journal 
of  national  influence  and  celebrity. 

Although  an  untiring  journalist,  versed  in  the  varied 
lore  of  newspaper  organism  and  management,  Mr. 
Watterson  early  became  a  favorite  in  political  conven 
tions  and  on  the  hustings,  a  popular  lecturer,  and  a 
captivating  occasional  speaker.  He  led  the  Southern 
wing  of  the  Liberal  movement  in  1872 — a  member 
of  the  famous  Quadrilateral,  his  colleagues  being  Mr. 
Samuel  Bowles,  Mr.  Murat  Halstead,  and  Mr.  Hor 
ace  White — whose  labors,  though  not  so  designed,  cul 
minated  in  the  nomination  of  Horace  Greeley  for 
President.  Henceforward  he  occupied  a  conspicuous 
position  in  the  councils  of  the  Democratic  party, 
largely  its  platform-maker  from  1876  to  1892.  He 
was  the  close  friend  of  Mr.  Tilden,  presiding  over  the 
National  Convention  which  nominated  the  Sage  of 
Greystone  for  President,  and,  later  on,  his  personal 
representative  upon  the  floor  of  the  Lower  House  of 


Publishers'  Note 

Congress.  He  accepted  this  seat  in  Congress  at  Mr. 
Tilden's  urgency  and  against  his  own  inclinations,  de 
clining  a  re-election.  With  this  exception,  he  has  per 
sistently  refused  office.  "I  resolved,"  he  said,  on  one 
occasion,  when  offered  a  distinguished  position,  "when 
a  very  young  man,  that  I  would  not  perpetrate  the 
mistake  of  Greeley  and  Raymond." 

A  notable  figure  wherever  he  has  appeared,  Mr. 
Watterson's  relation  to  the  public  questions  of  his  time 
has  been  that  of  a  leader,  who,  having  reached  his  own 
conclusions,  took  no  thought  of  the  consequences.  He 
stood  for  the  pacification  of  the  country  and  the  rec 
onciliation  of  the  sections  upon  the  acceptance  of  the 
three  final  amendments  to  the  Constitution,  which  he 
described  as  the  Treaty  of  Peace  between  the  North 
and  the  South,  when  not  another  voice  on  his  own 
side  of  the  line  could  be  heard  in  his  support,  and  lived 
to  see  his  policy  universally  accepted.  He  stood  for 
the  public  credit  and  a  sound  currency,  with  scarcely 
any  but  a  silent  following  in  his  own  party,  during  the 
Greenback  craze  and  through  the  succeeding  Free 
Silver  agitation,  still  living  to  see  his  course  vindicated 
by  the  results.  Mainly  through  his  efforts  the  old 
black-laws  were  removed  from  the  statute-books  of 
Kentucky,  and  the  Kentucky  negro  was  invested,  with 
out  the  violence  which  marked  other  of  the  old  Slave 
States,  with  his  new  rights  of  citizenship. 

Years  before  Lamar  delivered  his  eulogy  of  Sum- 
ner,  and  while  Grady  was  a  school-boy,  Mr.  Watter- 
son  was  passing  backward  and  forward  between  the 
two  embittered  sections  laying  the  foundation  for  the 
epoch-making  utterances  of  those  great  orators. 
Through  all  his  writing  and  speaking  one  dominant 
note  will  be  found — the  national  destiny  and  the 
homogeneity  of  the  people — charity  and  tolerance — 
constituting  a  key  to  his  life-long  labor  of  love. 


VI 


Publishers*  Note 

In  this  volume  the  publishers  reproduce  only  such 
political  expressions  as  seem  to  be  historic  and  are  in 
a  sense  non-partisan,  omitting  merely  campaign  and 
convention  speeches,  which,  however  striking,  relate  to 
contemporary  interests. 

The  lectures  show  for  themselves.  The  addresses, 
beginning  with  the  memorial  to  Prentice,  delivered 
upon  the  invitation  of  the  Legislature  of  Kentucky  in 
1870,  to  the  "Ideal  in  Public  Life,"  delivered  in  1903. 
on  the  occasion  of  the  Emerson  centenary,  including 
the  dedication  of  the  Columbian  Exposition,  in  1892, 
the  Cross-swords  speech  of  1877  m  tne  National 
Cemetery  at  Nashville,  and  the  many  intermediate 
contributions  to  the  patriotic  spirit  of  the  time,  notably 
the  Grand  Army  reception  upon  its  first  encampment 
on  Southern  soil  in  1895,  will  need  no  word  of  in 
troduction  to  appreciative  Americans. 

In  the  form  of  an  "Appendix  "  the  publishers  add 
to  these  addresses  a  series  of  articles  from  the  Courier- 
Journal  which  seem  to  have  more  than  ephemeral  in 
terest.  These  relate  to  "certain  downward  tendencies 
in  what  is  known  as  the  Smart  Set  of  Fashionable  So 
ciety."  They  created  a  prodigious  sensation  when 
they  appeared,  hardly  less  in  London  than  in  New 
York  and  Newport  and  other  seats  of  the  mighty 
Four  Hundred,  being  translated  into  French  and  Ger 
man,  and  made  the  text  in  Paris  and  Berlin  for  a 
critical  revival  among  both  the  lay-preachers  of  the 
press  and  the  leaders  of  the  pulpit  and  the  schools. 
The  first  of  these  articles  was  drawn  out  by  a  lamen 
table  tragedy,  and  they  grew  into  a  series,  under  the 
provocation  of  the  newspaper  criticisms  which  followed. 
Although  more  than  a  year  has  passed,  they  continue 
to  be  made  the  subjects  of  comment  and  controversy 
among  those  who  delight  to  moralize  on  this  particular 
theme;  yet  nothing  was  further  from  their  author's 

vii 


Publishers'  Note 

purpose,  Mr.  Watterson  declares,  than  a  social  or 
ethical  crusade,  his  sole  aim  being,  in  the  discharge  of 
his  daily  newspaper  duties,  "to  take  account  of  passing 
events  and  to  shoot  folly  as  it  flies." 


Vlll 


CONTENTS 


I.   IN   MEMORIAM 

PAGE 

GEORGE  DENNISON  PRENTICE         .       .       .       .       .       3 


II.    LECTURES 

THE  COMPROMISES  OF  LIFE 29 

THE  SOUTH  IN  LIGHT  AND  SHADE 59 

MONEY  AND  MORALS        '.        .        ...        .        .  102 

ABRAHAM  LINCOLN 137 

JOHN  PAUL  JONES     ,        ..       .       .        .        ...        .  181 


III.   ADDRESSES 

THE  AMERICAN  NEWSPAPER  .        .        r           225 

A  PLEA  FOR  PROVINCIALISM     ,    ,  »        *        -        .        .  260 

THE  NATION'S  DEAD         ,  .     ,  t       .        .       .        .  276 

THE  NEW  SOUTH       .        ...      ,..  »      . ,        .        .        .  288 

LET  Us  HAVE  PEACE        .       .  .  '    .       .       .        .  294 

OUR  EXPANDING  REPUBLIC       .  .       ...        .  300 

A  WELCOME  TO  THE  GRAND  ARMY  .....  313 

THE  PURITAN  AND  THE  CAVALIER  .....  318 

ix 


Contents 

PACK 

THE  REUNITED  SECTIONS 326 

FRANCIS  SCOTT  KEY 331 

GOD'S  PROMISE  REDEEMED 344 

THE  MAN  IN  GRAY 348 

HEROES  IN  HOMESPUN 356 

THE  HAMPTON  ROADS  CONFERENCE         ....  363 
THE  IDEAL  IN  PUBLIC  LIFE 370 


IV.    SPEECHES 

THE  ELECTORAL  COMMISSION  BILL 385 

ENGLAND  AND  AMERICA 406 

RECIPROCITY  AND  EXPANSION 412 

FAREWELL  TO  THE  KENTUCKY  TROOPS     ....  428 
BLOOD  THICKER  THAN  WATER 438 


APPENDIX 

CERTAIN  DOWNWARD  TENDENCIES  IN  THE  SMART  SET  OF 
FASHIONABLE  SOCIETY 

A  FLOCK  OF  UNCLEAN  BIRDS 455 

APPROACHING  THE  LIMIT         ' 455 

THOSE  UNCLEAN  BIRDS  AGAIN  .  .  .  .  -457 
THE  SMART  SET,  THE  NEWSPAPERS,  AND  THE  TRUTH  .  463 
STILL  HARPING  ON  MY  DAUGHTER 473 


I 

IN  MEMORIAM 


GEORGE   DENNISON   PRENTICE » 

George  Dennison  Prentice  was  born  in  a  little,  old- 
fashioned  New  England  cottage  on  the  outskirts  of  the 
village  of  Preston,  in  Connecticut,  December  18, 
1802,  which  came  that  year,  as  I  find  by  reference 
to  a  chronological  table,  on  a  Saturday,  and  was  at 
tended  by  a  north-east  gale  that  swept  down  the  coast 
and  over  the  country  far  and  near.  He  died  in  a  Ken 
tucky  farm-house,  on  the  banks  of  the  Ohio  River,  ten 
miles  below  the  city  of  Louisville,  just  before  the 
break  of  Saturday,  January  22,  1870,  while  an  un 
toward  winter  flood  roared  about  the  lonely  spot.  Be 
tween  the  tempest  of  his  coming  and  the  tempest  of  his 
going  flowed  a  life-current  many-toned  and  strong; 
often  illuminated  by  splendid  and  varied  achievements, 
and  sometimes  overcast  by  shadowy  passions,  struggles, 
and  sorrows;  but  never  pausing  upon  its  journey  dur 
ing  sixty-seven  years,  nor  turning  out  of  its  course;  a 
long  life  and  a  busy,  joining  in  uncommon  measure 
thought  to  action,  and  devoting  both  to  the  practice  of 

*  A  Memorial  Address  delivered  by  invitation  of  the  Legislature  of 
Kentucky,  in  the  Hall  of  the  House  of  Representatives,  at  Frankfort, 
February  ^^t  1870. 

3 


The  Compromises  of  Life 

government,  the  conduct  of  parties,  and  the  cultivation 
of  belles-lettres.  For  this  man  was  a  daring  partisan 
and  a  delightful  poet;  the  distinguished  advocate  of  a 
powerful  political  organization;  a  generous  patron  of 
arts ;  a  constant  friend  to  genius.  In  violent  and  law 
less  times  he  used  a  gun  with  hardly  less  effect  than  a 
pen,  being  regarded  at  one  time  as  the  best  pistol-shot  in 
Kentucky.  By  turns  a  statesman,  a  wit,  a  poet,  a  man 
of  the  world,  and  always  a  journalist,  he  gave  to  the 
press  of  his  country  its  most  brilliant  illustrations,  and 
has  left  to  the  State  and  to  his  progeny  by  all  odds  the 
most  unique,  if  not  the  largest,  reputation  ever  achieved 
by  a  newspaper  writer.  You  recognized  these  things, 
and  the  Legislature  of  Tennessee  recognized  them,  when 
his  death  was  described  in  the  resolutions  of  both  assem 
blies  as  a  "public  bereavement."  Such  an  honor  was 
never  paid  the  memory  of  any  other  journalist;  and, 
although  you  have  signalized  yourselves  no  less  than 
him,  it  is  my  duty,  and  I  assure  you  it  is  a  very  great 
satisfaction,  to  thank  you  on  behalf  of  the  profession 
which  owes  this,  among  so  many  obligations,  to  the 
genius  of  Prentice. 

There  are  some  names  that  have  a  mysterious  charm 
in  them — that  go  directly  from  the  ear  to  the  heart  like 
echoes  from  a  world  of  beauty  and  enchantment — that 
whisper  to  us  somehow  of  song  and  blossom — whose 
very  shadows  are  fragrant  and  seductive.  Rupert  and 
Tasso  and  Diderot,  Richter  and  Schiller  and  Chateau- 

4 


George  Dennison  Prentice 

briand,  Sheridan  and  Byron  and  Maurice  of  Saxe,  are 
of  this  nature,  and  represent,  in  one  sort  and  another, 
what  might  be  called  the  knight-errantry  of  civilization. 
Prentice  belongs  to  the  same  class.  What  Rupert  was 
in  the  saddle,  and  Diderot  and  Richter  were  in  the 
fight  for  free  opinions;  what  the  friend  of  Madame 
Recamier  was  in  letters  and  diplomacy ;  what  Sheridan 
was  in  the  Commons;  what  Byron  and  Tasso  and  Mau 
rice  of  Saxe  were  in  the  airy  world  of  adventure,  half 
actual  and  half  myth — Prentice  was  to  the  press.  But 
mention  of  his  name,  like  mention  of  the  others,  does 
not  recall  the  broils  and  battles  in  which  he  engaged; 
nor  does  it  suggest  those  hard  and  dry  realities,  which, 
in  common  with  his  fellow-men,  he  had  to  encounter 
and  endure.  Much  the  reverse.  It  tells  us  of  the 
princely  and  the  splendid,  the  pleasant  and  the  fanciful ; 
and  because  of  this  many  persons  have  erroneously  con 
ceived  his  work  to  have  been  as  the  play  of  others, 
idealizing  him  as  one  whose  genius  was  so  scintillating 
and  abundant  that  its  flashes  fell  from  him  in  spite  of 
himself,  like  the  stars  that  were  cast  from  the  armor  of 
the  magic  buckler  in  the  legend.  Scintillant  and 
abundant  he  was,  but  also  a  rare  scholar  and  a  pro 
digious  drudge — overflowing  with  both  the  energy  and 
the  poetry  of  life — admirably  poised  and  balanced  by 
the  two  forces  which  we  understand  as  imagination 
and  intellect.  Burke's  description  of  Charles  Townsend 
seems  a  not  inept  sketch  of  George  D.  Prentice.  I  am 

5 


The  Compromises  of  Life 

using  Burke's  own  language:  "There  certainly  never 
arose  in  this  country  a  more  pointed  or  a  more  finished 
wit,  and,  where  his  passions  were  not  concerned,  a  more 
refined,  exquisite,  and  penetrating  judgment."  Dur 
ing  a  third  of  a  century  he  was,  as  Hazlitt  said  of  Cob- 
bett,  a  sort  of  fourth  estate  in  the  politics  of  America. 
Whatever  cause  he  espoused  he  defended  by  a  style  of 
argument  that  was  never  trite  nor  feeble,  nor  muddy 
nor  complex,  but  was  luminous  and  strong,  enriched 
by  all  that  was  necessary  to  establish  it  and  decorate  it, 
and  suited  exactly  to  the  temper  of  the  times  and  the 
comprehension  of  the  people,  which  he  rarely  failed  to 
hit  between  the  acorn  and  the  hull.  In  considering 
his  career,  however,  I  shall  ask  leave  to  speak  of  him 
rather  as  I  knew  him  in  his  own  person  than  as  he  was 
known  to  the  public  through  the  transactions  in  which 
he  bore  a  part.  I  take  it  for  granted  that  you  are  not 
at  all  curious  to  learn  what  opinion  I  or  any  man 
may  entertain  of  this  or  that  political  event;  and,  at 
the  very  best,  opinions  will  differ  on  these  points,  leav 
ing  us  in  the  end  nothing  assured  or  distinct.  If  we 
would  understand  history,  we  must  study  the  men  who 
made  it;  and,  in  order  to  get  a  clear  notion  of  their 
characters  and  motives,  we  need  take  rather  the  spirit 
than  the  record  of  their  lives.  I  shall  detain  you,  there 
fore,  neither  by  a  moral  upon  the  political  experience  of 
Kentucky,  nor  a  narrative  of  the  ups  and  downs  of  a 
bygone  political  generation.  I  wish  to  give  you  instead 

6 


George  Dennison  Prentice 

a  homely,  and,  as  far  as  I  may  be  able,  a  graphic  picture 
of  George  D.  Prentice  as  he  was  known  to  his  familiars ; 
for  I  suppose  I  need  not  tell  you  that  he  was  a  man  of 
many  marked  traits  and  peculiarities  of  manner,  of 
voice,  of  appearance,  and  even  of  gait,  as  well  as  of 
genius. 

The  newspapers  have  already  acquainted  you  with 
the  leading  points  in  his  career.  That  he  was  born,  as 
I  have  stated,  in  1802;  that  he  was  taught  by  his 
mother  to  read  the  Bible  with  ease  when  a  little  over 
three  years  of  age ;  that  he  studied  under  Horace  Mann 
and  Tristam  Burges  at  Brown  University,  where  he 
became  a  famous  Latin  and  English  scholar,  reciting 
the  whole  of  the  twelfth  book  of  the  /Eneid  from 
memory  for  a  single  lesson,  and  committing,  in  like 
manner,  such  books  as  Kames's  "Elements  of  Criti 
cism"  and  Dugald  Stuart's  "Philosophy";  that  he  be 
gan  as  an  editor  in  Hartford,  coming  thence  to  Ken 
tucky  to  write  a  life  of  Henry  Clay,  and  remain 
ing  here  to  establish  the  Louisville  Journal,  in  1830; 
and  that  he  made  it  the  most  celebrated  and  popu 
lar  newspaper  in  America,  and  himself  the  most  con 
spicuous  journalist  of  his  time,  are  matters  of  fact 
which  need  not  be  elaborated.  They  belong  to  biog 
raphy.  Of  his  marriage,  after  his  wife  had  been 
taken  from  him,  he  was  himself  not  averse  to  speak 
ing,  and  dwelt  upon  her  memory  with  a  self-ac 
cusing  sorrow,  which  was  sincere  and  touching.  I 

7 


The  Compromises  of  Life 

had  never  the  happiness  of  knowing  her,  but  from  the 
representation  of  those  who  had  reason  to  remember 
her  hospitality  or  to  bless  her  bounty,  there  can  be  no 
doubt  that  she  was  a  most  charming  woman.  He 
loved  to  refer  to  her  as  a  girl,  and  it  is  curious  that  she 
is  the  only  woman  I  ever  heard  him  speak  of  with 
genuine  warmth  and  tenderness,  although  there  were 
many  good  and  gentle  women  who  had  been  his  life 
long  friends.  "I  have  not  had  credit,"  he  said,  on  one 
occasion,  "for  being  a  devoted  husband;  but,  if  I  had 
my  life  to  go  over,  that  is  the  only  relation  I  would  not 
alter;  she  was  the  wisest,  the  purest,  the  best,  and  the 
most  thoroughly  enchanting  woman  I  ever  knew." 
Most  persons  will  call  to  mind  the  verses  which  he  ad 
dressed  to  her.  Verses  are  not  always  truth-tellers, 
but  in  this  instance  they  expressed  the  impulses  of  a 
nature  which,  readily  impressed  by  all  things  agreeable, 
could  not  be  drawn  out  to  the  full  by  one  of  less  grace 
of  mind  and  heart.  His  affection  for  his  children  was 
likewise  intense,  and  the  loss  of  his  elder  son  he  never 
recovered  from.  I  know  of  nothing  more  affecting  than 
his  fondness  for  a  little,  fair-haired,  bright-eyed  boy,  a 
grandson,  who  bears  his  name,  and  who  used  often  to 
come  and  visit  him  and  spend  whole  afternoons  in  his 
room ;  for  you  will  understand  that  he  lived  in  the  office 
— slept  and  ate  and  worked  there — seldom  quitting  it. 
Strangers  supposed  that  he  was  decrepit,  and  there 
existed  an  impression  that  he  had  resigned  his  old  place 

8 


George  Dennison  Prentice 

to  a  younger  and  more  active  spirit.  He  resigned  noth 
ing.  I  doubt  whether  he  ever  did  more  work,  or  bet 
ter  work,  during  any  single  year  of  his  life  than  dur 
ing  this  last  year.  He  said,  on  January  I,  1869, 
"I  will  make  the  last  years  of  my  life  the  best  years  of 
my  life,  and  I  shall  work  like  a  tiger ;"  and  he  did  work 
like  a  machine  which  seemed  to  have  no  stop  in  it.  In 
a  note  to  Mr.  Haldeman,  two  or  three  months  ago,  he 
wrote:  "I  work  twenty-four  hours  a  day,  and  the  rea 
son  I  do  not  work  any  more  is  because  the  days  are  no 
longer."  I  have  had  some  personal  knowledge  of  the 
working  capacity  of  the  two  newspaper  writers  in  this 
country  who  have  been  reputed  the  readiest  and  most 
profuse ;  but  I  never  knew  anyone  who  could  write  as 
much  as  Prentice  in  a  given  time,  or  sustain  the  quan 
tity  and  quality  of  his  writing  for  so  long  a  time.  Mr. 
Raymond  used  to  run  abroad  when  fagged  out,  and 
Mr.  Forney  takes  frequent  recreative  intervals.  Pren 
tice  was  unresting.  He  actually  averaged  from  fifteen 
to  eighteen  hours  a  day,  and  kept  this  up  month  after 
month,  turning  out  column  upon  column  of  all  sorts  of 
matter,  "from  grave  to  gay,  from  lively  to  severe." 
The  only  testiness  he  ever  exhibited  was  when  his  work 
was  interrupted ;  and  yet,  withal,  he  had  leisure  for 
abundant  intercourse  with  his  yoke-mates,  and  would 
every  now  and  then  appear  like  a  sudden  apparition,  to 
one  or  another,  with  something  curious  or  comical  to 
say.  But  he  never  laughed  at  his  own  conceits.  He 

9 


The  Compromises  of  Life 

would  sit  at  a  table  dictating  the  drollest  things  in  a 
slow,  precise,  subdued  tone  of  voice,  unmoved  and  grave 
of  aspect,  while  subdued  laughter  went  round  the  room. 
I  heard  him  once  say  to  an  amanuensis  whom  he  had 
newly  engaged,  "Now,  all  I  ask  of  you  is  write  down 
what  I  tell  you,  but  above  all  don't  you  watch  my 
mouth  like  a  cat  watching  a  rat-hole."  He  was  a  care 
ful  as  well  as  a  voluminous  writer;  set  great  store  by 
accuracy  of  expression  and  exactness  in  marks  of  punc 
tuation,  and  was  an  erudite  grammarian,  versed  in  all 
the  schools,  though  wedded  to  his  own.  He  invariably 
revised  the  manuscript  of  his  amanuensis,  and  read  his 
own  proof-sheets.  And  yet,  except  to  have  his  matter 
appear  correctly,  he  was  indifferent  to  it.  He  used  to 
say,  "Use  no  ceremony  with  my  copy.  A  man  who 
writes  as  much  as  I  do  cannot  expect  to  hit  the  nail 
always  on  the  head."  But  he  did  hit  it  nearer  and 
oftener  than  anybody  else.  He  was  much  attached  to 
Mr.  Shipman,  and  had  perfect  confidence  in  the  taste 
and  judgment  of  that  able  writer  and  scholar.  Some 
times  he  would  scribble  a  paragraph,  not  over  nice,  but 
always  funny,  intended  to  be  struck  out  by  Shipman. 
Not  infrequently  the  wit  got  the  better  of  Shipman's 
scruples,  and  the  paragraph  went  in,  which  seemed  to 
amuse  Prentice  vastly.  He  was  by  no  means  sensitive 
to  what  we  call  the  "proprieties,"  and  regarded  many 
of  the  conventional  notions  of  society  as  affected  and 
absurd,  and  entitled  to  scant  respect.  He  once  told  me 

10 


George  Dennison   Prentice 

a  story  of  his  having  horrified  the  steady  old  Whigs  of 
Louisville  soon  after  he  began  to  edit  the  Journal,  and 
in  the  midst  of  the  Clay  and  Jackson  war,  by  riding  to 
the  race-course  in  an  open  carriage  with  Mrs.  General 
Eaton,  who  happened  to  be  passing  through  the  city 
just  after  the  notable  scandal  at  Washington.  At  that 
time  he  was  full  and  erect,  rosy-cheeked  and  brown- 
haired,  with  an  eye  which  at  sixty-seven  was  still  mar 
vellous  for  its  beauty  and  brightness,  beaming  with  a 
clear,  warm,  and  steady  light. 

Prentice  was  twenty-seven  years  old  when  he  came  to 
Kentucky.  He  was  obscure  and  poor.  The  people 
were  crude  and  rough.  The  times  were  boisterous. 
Parties  were  dividing  upon  measures  of  government 
which  could  not,  in  their  nature,  fail  to  arouse  and  em 
bitter  popular  feeling,  and  to  the  violence  of  conflicting 
interests  was  added  the  enthusiasm  which  the  rival 
claims  of  two  great  party  chieftains  everywhere  excited. 
In  those  days  there  was  no  such  thing  as  journalism  as 
we  now  understand  it  and  pursue  it.  The  newspaper 
was  but  a  poor  affair,  owned  by  a  clique  or  a  politician. 
The  editor  of  a  newspaper  was  nothing  if  not  personal. 
Moreover,  the  editors  who  had  appeared  above  the 
surface  had  been  men  of  second-rate  abilities,  and  had 
served  rather  as  squires  to  their  liege  lords,  the  politi 
cians.  This  latter  at  least  Prentice  reformed  at  once 
and  altogether.  He  established  the  Louisville  Journal; 
he  threw  himself  into  the  spirit  of  the  times  as  the  pro- 
II 


The  Compromises  of  Life 

fessed  friend  of  Mr.  Clay  and  the  champion  of  his  prin 
ciples;  but  he  invented  a  warfare  hitherto  unknown, 
and  illustrated  it  by  a  personal  identity  which  very  soon 
elevated  him  into  the  rank  of  a  party  leader  as  well  as  a 
partisan  editor.  I  fancy  that  the  story  of  giants,  which 
has  come  down  to  us  through  the  nursery,  illustrates  the 
suggestion  that  in  the  early  days  of  the  world  there  was 
room  for  the  play  of  a  gigantic  individuality,  which 
population  and  civilization  exclude  from  modern  life. 
Originally  men  went  out  singly  in  quest  of  adventure, 
and  a  hero  was,  in  faith,  a  giant;  then  they  moved  in 
couples,  next  in  clusters.  We  now  travel  in  circles. 
Combinations  are  essential.  One  man  is  nothing  by 
himself.  Our  very  political  system  is  an  organism  of 
"rings";  and  the  journal  of  to-day  no  longer  represents 
the  personal  caprices  and  peculiarities  of  its  editor,  but 
stands  as  the  type  of  a  class  of  public  opinion  quite  apart 
from  the  reach  of  individual  influence.  Personal  jour 
nalism  is  a  lost  art.  Journalism  is  now  a  distinct  pro 
fession  to  which  the  individual  editor  holds  the  relation 
which  the  individual  lawyer  holds  to  the  courts ;  and  as 
oratory  is  becoming  less  and  less  essential  to  the  practice 
of  law,  so  mere  literary  skill  is  becoming  less  and  less 
essential  to  the  practice  of  journalism.  Mr.  Prentice, 
the  most  distinguished  example  of  the  personal  journal 
ism  of  the  past,  leaves  but  one  other  behind  him,  and 
when  Greeley  goes  there  will  be  no  one  left,  and  we 
shall  hardly  see  another.  As  Shakespeare  said  of  the 

12 


George  Dennison   Prentice 

players,  "they  die  and  leave  no  copy."  Prentice,  like 
Greeley,  knew  nothing  and  cared  less  for  the  machinery 
of  the  modern  newspaper;  its  multitude  of  writers,  re 
porters,  and  correspondents  to  be  handled  under  fixed 
laws  known  to  a  common  usage;  its  tangled  web  of 
telegraphy;  its  special  departments  and  systematic 
mechanism.  For  details  of  this  sort  he  had  no  concern. 
They  belonged  to  a  journalism  very  different  from  that 
in  which  he  had  made  his  fame.  But  he  adapted  himself 
to  their  needful  exactions  with  cheerfulness;  and  he 
wrote  as  readily  and  vigorously  in  an  impersonal  char 
acter  as  he  had  done,  when  he  was  not  only  writing 
solely  in  his  own  person,  but  when  there  was  no  know 
ing  at  what  moment  he  might  not  be  called  upon  to 
back  his  bon  mot  by  a  bullet. 

From  1830  to  1861  the  influence  of  Prentice  was 
greater  than  the  influence  of  any  political  writer  of  the 
time ;  and  it  was  an  influence  directly  positive  and  per 
sonal.  It  owed  its  origin  to  the  union  in  his  person  of 
gifts  which  no  one  had  combined  before  him.  He  had, 
to  build  upon,  an  intellect  naturally  strong  and  practi 
cal,  and  this  was  trained  by  rigid  scholarship.  He  pos 
sessed  a  keen  wit  and  a  poetic  temperament.  He  was 
brave  and  aggressive ;  and,  though  by  no  means  quarrel 
some,  he  was  as  ready  to  fight  as  to  write,  and  his  lot 
was  cast  in  a  region  where  he  had  to  do  a  good  deal  of 
both.  Thus,  the  business  of  an  editor  requiring  him 
to  do  the  writing  and  fighting  for  his  party,  he  did  not 

13 


The  Compromises  of  Life 


A 


lack  opportunities  for  manly  display;  and  be  sure  he 
made  every  occasion  tell  for  its  full  value.  It  is  now 
generally  admitted  that  he  never  came  off  worsted  in 
any  encounter,  physical  or  intellectual.  In  his  combats 
he  displayed  parts  which  were  both  signal  and  showy; 
overwhelming  invective,  varied  by  a  careless,  off-hand 
satire,  which  hit  home ;  or  strong  and  logical,  or  plausi 
ble  and  pleasing  argument,  that  brought  out  the  salient 
points  of  his  subject  and  obscured  the  weak  ones;  or  nip 
ping,  paragraphic  frost  that  sparkled  and  blighted;  or 
quiet  daring  that  was  over-reckless  of  consequences. 
Who  can  wonder  that  he  became  the  idol  of  his  party  ? 
Who  can  wonder  that  he  was  the  darling  of  the  mob? 
But  with  these  great  popular  gifts,  he  was  a  gentleman 
of  graceful  and  easy  manners,  genial  among  men,  gal 
lant  among  women,  a  sweet  poet,  a  cultivated,  chival 
rous  man  of  the  world.  I  am  not  making  a  fancy  sketch, 
although  it  looks  like  one ;  because  where  will  you  go  to 
find  the  like?  It  is  easy  enough  to  describe  second  or 
third-rate  abilities.  They  belong  to  a  class,  and  may 
be  arrayed  under  a  standard.  But  it  is  impossible  to 
compare  Prentice  with  any  man.  He  was  as  great  a 
partisan  as  Cobbett;  but  Cobbett  was  only  a  partisan. 
He  was  as  able  and  as  consistent  a  political  leader  as 
Greeley;  but  Greeley  never  had  Prentice's  wit  or  ac 
complishments.  I  found  in  London  that  his  fame  is 
exceeded  by  that  of  no  American  newspaper  writer; 

«4 


George  Dennison   Prentice 

but  the  journalists  of  Paris,  where  there  is  still  nothing 
but  personal  journalism,  considered  him  a  few  years 
ago  as  the  solitary  journalist  of  genius  among  us.  His 
sarcasms  have  often  gone  into  Charivari,  and  several  of 
his  poems  have  been  translated.  The  French  adore 
I' esprit.  They  admire  that  which  is  abusive  and  brave. 
How  could  they  fail  to  put  a  great  estimate  upon  Pren 
tice,  who  might  have  ranked  with  Sainte-Beuve  as  a 
critic,  and  certainly  surpassed  Rochefort  as  a  master  of 
invective. 

For  five  and  thirty  years  his  life  marked  an  uninter 
rupted  success.  He  cared  not  at  all  for  money,  but 
what  he  needed  he  had,  and  there  was  no  end  to  the 
evidence  of  his  fame  and  power  which  constantly 
reached  him.  His  imagination,  nevertheless,  took  a 
melancholy  turn,  and  threw  out,  in  the  midst  of  wild 
and  witty  partisan  bursts,  flashes  of  a  somewhat  morbid 
kind.  It  is  not  strange  that,  as  he  aged,  he  withdrew 
himself  from  very  close  and  active  human  intercourse. 
His  ambition,  fitful  at  most,  deserted  him.  His  domes 
ticity,  to  which  he  was  attached,  was  gone.  Society 
bored  him.  All  his  faculties  remained  clear  and  full; 
but  the  motive  for  effort  was  wanting,  and  he  worked 
because  it  was  his  nature  to  work.  He  would  have 
died  else.  He  once  quoted  a  verse  of  a  fine  poem  of 
Mangan's,  which  reflected  his  mood  and  seemed  to  rep 
resent  his  condition : 

IS 


The  Compromises  of  Life 

"Homeless,  wifeless,  flagonless,  alone; 

Not  quite  bookless  though,  unless  I  choose, 
With  nothing  left  to  do  except  to  groan, 

Not  a  soul  to  woo  except  the  muse. 
Oh,  this  is  hard  for  me  to  bear, 

Me,  that  whilom  lived  so  much  en  haut, 
Me,  that  broke  all  hearts,  like  chinaware, 

Twenty  golden  years  ago." 


He  let  his  hair  and  beard  grow  long,  and  was  careless 
in  his  dress.  People  thought  him  thoroughly  broken 
down  as  they  saw  him  on  the  street  heedless,  as  he 
always  had  been,  of  passers-by,  or  in  his  room  wearing 
his  brown  and  tattered  robe.  They  should  have  seen 
him  enlivened  by  a  glow  of  work  or  feeling,  and  in  his 
shirt-sleeves,  as  lithe  of  limb  and  jaunty  of  carriage  as 
a  boy;  no  man  of  his  age  was  ever  more  active.  He 
once  assured  me  that  he  had  never  had  a  headache  in 
his  life.  It  was  not  the  infirmity  of  age  which  carried 
him  off,  but  a  disorder  which  a  younger  man  might  have 
resisted  as  feebly  as  he  did. 

Prentice  appeared  as  an  author  twice  only.  His 
biography  of  Henry  Clay  is  a  clever  piece  of  political 
special  pleading.  The  narrative,  however,  is  meagre 
and  rather  turgid.  It  was  not  the  story,  but  the  argu 
ment,  which  he  had  at  heart ;  for  the  book  was  written 
to  serve  a  campaign  purpose.  His  little  volume  of 
witticisms  from  the  Louisville  Journal  is  more  repre 
sentative.  In  his  preface  he  expressed  a  doubt  whether 

16 


George  Dennison  Prentice 

such  a  republication  would  bear  the  test  of  time.  "I 
know,"  he  said,  "that  such  things  do  not  keep  well." 
But  they  have  kept  pretty  well  so  far.  I  can  recall  no 
book  of  wit  and  humor,  not  even  the  collections  of 
Hook  and  Jerrold,  in  which  the  salt  is  fresher  or  more 
savory ;  and  the  student  of  that  brevity  which  is  the  soul 
of  wit  can  hardly  find  a  better  model  of  all  that  is  neat, 
racy,  and  concise.  Of  these  paragraphs  most  are  good, 
but  the  best  are  those  which  were  cracked  over  the  head 
of  poor  Shadrach  Penn.  Prentice  in  his  last  days  spoke 
of  Penn  as  an  able  and  sincere  man,  but  wanting  sadly 
in  nerve  and  humor.  "In  six  months,"  said  Prentice, 
"I  pelted  him  out  of  his  senses  and  into  a  libel  suit."  It 
must  have  been  terrible,  indeed,  upon  Penn,  and  did 
finally  drive  him  away  from  Louisville  to  St.  Louis, 
where  he  died.  Penn  could  say  nothing — could  not 
write  a  sentence — that  Prentice  did  not  seize  upon  it 
and  turn  it  to  his  own  account.  Penn  unguardedly 
speaks  of  "lying  these  cold  mornings  curled  up  in  bed." 
Prentice  retorts  that  "this  proves  what  we've  always 
said,  that  'ymi  lie  like  a  dog.'  "  Penn  comes  back 
angrily  with  something  about  Prentice's  setting  up  a 
"lie  factory,"  to  which  Prentice  rejoins,  "if  we  ever  do 
set  up  a  lie  factory,  we  will  certainly  swing  you  out  for 
a  sign."  Penn  says  he  has  "found  a  rat-hole."  Pren 
tice  says,  "that  will  save  you  your  next  year's  rent." 
Penn  says  he  has  met  one  of  Prentice's  statements 
squarely.  "Yes,"  said  Prentice,  "by  lying  roundly." 

17 


The  Compromises  of  Life 

Then  Penn,  wearied  out,  says  he  will  have  no 
more  to  do  with  Prentice.  "Well,"  says  Prentice, 
tauntingly,  "if  he  is  resolved  to  play  dummy  we  will 
torture  him  no  longer.  We  never  could  be  cruel  to 
dumb  animals."  Finally,  when  Penn  was  driven  from 
the  field,  Prentice  wrote:  "The  Advertiser  of  yesterday 
contained  a  long  valedictory  from  Shadrach  Penn,  its 
late  Editor.  Shadrach,  after  a  residence  of  twenty- 
three  years  in  this  city,  goes  to  spend  the  rest  of  his  life 
and  lay  his  bones  in  St.  Louis.  Well,  he  has  our  best 
wishes  for  his  prosperity.  All  the  ill-will  we  ever  had 
for  him  passed  out  long  ago  through  our  thumb  and 
forefinger.  His  lot,  hitherto,  has  been  a  most  ungentle 
one,  but  we  trust  his  life  will  prove  akin  to  the  plant 
that  begins  to  blossom  at  the  advanced  age  of  half  a 
century.  May  all  be  well  with  him  here  and  hereafter ! 
We  should,  indeed,  be  sorry  if  a  poor  fellow  whom  we 
have  been  torturing  eleven  years  in  this  world  should 
be  passed  over  to  the  devil  in  the  next."  Rough  joking 
this,  but  characteristic  of  the  times.  The  Journal  was 
crowded  with  it,  along  with  a  deal  that  was  neither 
rough  nor  humorous.  That,  for  example,  was  a  neat 
reply  to  Dickens's  complaint  that  at  Louisville  he  was 
not  able  to  find  water  enough  to  clean  himself.  "And 
the  great  Ohio  River,"  said  Prentice,  "right  at  hand." 
And  to  the  young  lady  who  threatened  to  stamp  on  his 
paper:  "She  had  better  not;  it  has  little  eyes  in  it" 

18 


George  Dennison  Prentice 

The  sewing-girls  of  New  York  devoted  one  day  to  sew 
ing  for  the  benefit  of  the  Polish  exiles.  Prentice  said 
this  was  a  beautiful  instance  "of  the  needle  turning  to 
the  pole,"  and  Punch  afterward  appropriated  the  con 
ceit. 

On  his  poems  Prentice  himself  put  no  great  account. 
They  were  thrown  off  idly.  He  wrote  verses,  he  said, 
as  a  discipline,  or  for  recreation.  He  did  not  stand 
"Up  to  the  chin  in  the  Rubicon  flood."  The  best 
thing  he  did  is  perhaps  the  "Closing  Year,"  which  has 
many  good  lines  and  bold  images,  and  will  always  be 
a  favorite  recitative.  The  "Lines  on  my  Mother's 
Grave"  and  the  "Lines  to  my  Son"  are  also  pathetic. 
I  once  heard  Albert  Pike  recite  the  "Lines  on  my 
Mother's  Grave,"  to  a  stag  party  in  Washington,  so 
touchingly  that  there  was  not  a  dry  eye  in  the  room. 
But,  after  all,  the  fame  of  Prentice  must  stand  not  upon 
any  single  piece  of  work  which  he  did,  but  upon  the 
purpose  and  influence  of  his  whole  life;  its  realization 
of  every  public  demand ;  its  adaptation  to  every  party 
need ;  its  current  readiness  and  force ;  its  thorough  con 
sistency  from  first  to  last.  He  did  more  for  others  and 
asked  less  for  himself  than  any  public  man  of  his  day. 
He  put  hundreds  of  men  into  office,  but  he  was  never  a 
candidate  for  office  himself.  He  relied  exclusively  upon 
his  newspaper,  and  by  this  agency  alone  rose  to  fame. 
Many  young  writers  imagine  that  polish  is  a  fine  thing; 

19 


The  Compromises  of  Life 

and  so  it  is.  But  polish  without  character  is  mere 
veneering.  That  which  is  really  good  in  literature  and 
journalism  is  that  which  is  representative,  the  product  of 
the  spirit  of  the  country  or  the  time.  Prentice  was  a 
perfect  interpreter  of  his  own  times ;  and  when  that  is 
said  we  say  of  him  what  can  only  be  said  with  truth  of 
two  or  three  of  his  contemporaries.  His  personality 
was  diffusive  as  well  as  ardent.  He  had  a  temper  vehe 
ment  and  daring;  but  he  held  it  under  good  control. 
Now  that  he  is  gone  there  is  no  one  to  succeed  him; 
and  I  doubt  whether,  if  it  were  possible,  it  would  be 
safe  to  trust  to  another  the  power  which,  as  far  as  he 
himself  was  concerned,  he  used  so  unselfishly  and  so 
sparingly.  There  was  a  time  when  the  splendor  of  his 
fame  was  very  captivating  to  me,  as  I  dare  say  it  was 
to  thousands  of  other  ambitious  youths,  particularly  of 
the  West  and  South.  But  you  will  believe  me  sincere 
when  I  tell  you,  paraphrasing  the  words  of  Tyndall 
upon  Faraday,  how  lightly  I  hold  the  honor  of  being 
Prentice's  successor  compared  with  the  honor  of  having 
been  Prentice's  friend.  His  friendship  was  energy  and 
inspiration.  His  "mantle"  is  a  burden  I  shall  never 
pretend  to  carry. 

He  lived  out  nearly  the  allotted  span,  having  well- 
nigh  reached  the  Psalmist's  threescore  years  and  ten. 
The  joy  of  life  was  gone.  He  grew  old  of  heart.  Few 
of  the  dear  ones  remained  to  him,  and  those  that  did 
remain  hardly  belonged  to  his  generation. 
20 


George  Dennison  Prentice 

"The  mossy  marbles  rest 
On  the  lips  that  he  has  prest 

In  their  bloom; 
And  the  names  he  loved  to  hear 
Have  been  carved  for  many  a  year 

On  the  tomb." 


He  was  exasperated  by  the  Beecher-Stowe  Byron 
scandal,  and  wrote  all  the  editorials  that  appeared  in 
the  Courier- Journal  on  that  subject.  Most  of  them  he 
read  to  me,  as  was  his  habit  when  anything  seriously  in 
terested  him ;  and  I  shall  never  forget  how,  reading  one 
of  them,  he  broke  down  once,  twice,  and  finally  alto 
gether;  his  voice  hoarse;  his  utterance  tremulous;  the 
tears  raining  down  his  cheek,  when  he  arose  silently 
and  glided  out  of  the  room.  It  was  not  decrepitude. 
It  was  feeling;  true  feeling,  too,  for,  excepting  a  few 
trifling  exaggerations  which  marked  his  style  of  writ 
ing  when  he  was  deeply  moved,  the  article  was  vigor 
ous  and  compact. 

Born  in  winter,  he  died  in  winter.  He  came  in  a 
gale  which  blew  across  the  Eastern  sea,  and  his  life  was 
borne  out  on  the  ebb  of  a  mighty  flood  in  the  West. 
It  was  stormy,  as  we  know,  from  the  beginning  to  the 
end.  I  have  described  the  place  where  he  died  as 
lonely.  It  was  the  home  of  his  son,  a  farm-house  just 
upon  the  water's  edge.  Mr.  Prentice  quitted  the  office 
on  Christmas  eve  to  go  to  the  country  to  spend  the  holi 
days.  He  was  unusually  well  and  cheerful.  A  few 

21 


The  Compromises  of  Life 

days  before  he  had  prepared  at  my  request  and  confided 
to  my  keeping  a  lengthy  manuscript  which  he  had  writ 
ten  with  his  own  hand.  It  is  an  autobiographic  memo 
randum  of  the  leading  dates  and  events  of  his  life,  and, 
though  the  writing  must  have  been  painful,  it  is  neat 
and  clear.  He  said  gloomily  on  one  occasion,  "I  hope 
you  won't  let  me  snuff  out  like  a  tallow  candle,"  but  he 
had  no  thought  of  "snuffing  out"  when  he  bought  the 
Christmas  presents  for  the  little  grandson.  The  rest 
came  quickly,  however,  and  may  be  told  in  a  line.  A 
cold  ride  of  ten  miles,  an  influenza,  pneumonia,  weeks 
of  prostration.  The  deluge  came  during  his  illness. 
The  river  swelled  out  of  its  banks.  The  waters  gath 
ered  around  about,  reaching  the  very  door-sill.  He  lay 
in  an  upper  chamber  and  could  hear  them  moaning  like 
echoes  of  his  own  regrets.  He  will  hear  them  never 
more.  He  is  beyond  the  fever  and  the  worry  and  the 
fret  and  the  tumult  of  this  world.  He  is  dead. 

He  sleeps  now  in  beautiful  Cave  Hill  Cemetery,  the 
Louisville  place  of  burial,  whither  on  the  Monday  after 
he  died  his  remains  were  conducted  with  all  the  honor 
ing  circumstance  and  ceremony  which  the  living  can 
pay  to  the  dead;  and  he  lies  by  the  side  of  the  little 
family  group  that  went  before  him.  Happy  reunion! 
How  peaceful,  tranquil,  satisfying!  How  gently  it 
seems  to  round  and  smooth  the  turmoil  of  a  life,  which, 
brilliant  as  it  was,  had  its  bitter  sorrows  and  cares.  I 
have  given  in  another  place  a  poem  of  Koerner  which 
22 


George  Dennison  Prentice 

he  was  fond  of,  and  recited  sometimes.  But  I  may 
repeat  it  here.  It  is  somewhat  autobiographical,  and 
runs  in  this  wise: 

"What  though  no  maiden  tears  ever  be  shed 

O'er  my  clay  bed ; 
Still  will  the  generous  night  never  refuse 

To  weep  her  dews; 
And  though  no  friendly  hand  garland  the  cross 

Above  my  moss, 
Yet  will  the  dear,  dear  moon  tenderly  shine 

Down  on  that  sign ; 
And,  though  the  passer-by  songlessly  pass 

Through  the  long  grass; 
There  will  the  noontide  bee  pleasantly  hum 

And  warm  winds  come ; 
Yes,  you  at  least,  ye  dells,  meadows  and  streams, 

Stars  and  moon-beams, 
Will  think  on  him  whose  weak,  meritless  lays 

Teemed  with  your  praise!" 

The  music  sounds  like  his  own.  He  was  himself  a 
poet  of  the  fields,  the  skies,  the  flowers,  "the  dells, 
meadows  and  streams,  stars  and  moon-beams." 

Perhaps  no  man  was  ever  followed  to  the  grave  by  a 
more  touching  demonstration  of  public  interest.  Few 
men  ever  lived  who  inspired  so  much  personal  sympathy. 
There  was  in  his  faults  something  that  took  hold  of  the 
popular  fancy ;  and  he  united  in  himself  three  elements 
at  least  that  never  fail  to  exert  a  powerful  influence 
among  the  people.  He  was  brilliant,  brave,  and  gen 
erous.  He  was  an  intellectual  match  for  any  man.  He 
23 


The  Compromises  of  Life 

was  physically  and  mentally  afraid  of  no  man.  He 
gave  bountifully  to  all  comers.  There  was  buried 
within  him  a  superb  nature,  and  his  death  for  a  moment 
lights  up  the  vestibule  in  which  he  is  placed  by  the  side 
of  three  famous  friends  of  his,  making  a  group  which 
will  always  be  the  pride  and  glory  of  this  country. 

Clay,  Crittenden,  Marshall,  and  Prentice.  They 
were  contemporaries  in  stirring  times ;  and  it  is  much  to 
say  of  Prentice  that  he  borrowed  no  light  from  them, 
but  that  he  let  the  glow  and  sparkle  of  his  genius  fall 
upon  their  lives,  and  that  they  were  brighter  for  it. 
They  are  contemporaries  once  more  in  the  radiance  of 
the  everlasting.  The  statesman  whose  genius  for  com 
promise  so  long  deferred  the  day  of  wrath ;  the  senator, 
who  gave  the  last  effort  of  a  noble  life  to  avert  the  long- 
impending  strife  of  sections;  the  orator,  who  might 
have  vied  with  either,  and  was  his  own  worst  enemy; 
the  journalist,  who  helped  launch  a  party  against  the 
winds  and  currents,  and  was  its  steadiest  and  truest 
pilot  as  long  as  a  single  battered  fragment  tossed  upon 
the  waters — all  are  gone  now,  and  stand,  side  by  side, 
peers  in  the  Court  of  last  resort.  Prentice  rests  in  a 
quiet  spot,  where  the  violets  which  he  loved  to  sing, 
and  the  meadow-grass,  that  grew  greener  in  his  song, 
shall  presently  come  and  grow  above  him;  where  the 
stars  which  he  made  into  a  thousand  images  shall  shine 
by  night;  where  the  quiet  skies  that  gave  the  kindliest 
joy  to  his  old  age  shall  bend  over  his  grave.  He  is 
24 


George  Dennison  Prentice 

dead  to  a  world  of  love  and  pity  and  homage.  But  so 
long  as  there  is  a  gravestone  upon  that  hillside,  so  long 
as  there  is  a  newspaper  printed  in  the  beautiful  Anglo- 
Saxon  tongue,  which  he  understood  so  well,  and  wrote 
so  well,  the  descendants  of  this  generation,  alike  from 
near  and  far,  will  seek  out  curiously  and  piously  the 
place  where  they  laid  him.  The  man  is  dead.  But 
Prentice  is  not  dead. 


II 

LECTURES 


27 


THE  COMPROMISES   OF  LIFE* 

It  is  given  out  by  those  who  have  investigated  the 
subject,  and  who  think  they  have  got  at  the  facts,  that 
the  earth  which  we  inhabit  is  round.  I  shall  take  this 
for  granted,  therefore,  and  observe  that  its  movement 
is  rotary.  Hogarth's  line  of  beauty  and  grace  repre 
sents  a  simple,  serpentine  curve.  The  rainbow  of 
hope  and  promise  is  semicircular.  The  broad  surface 
of  the  ocean,  stretching  away  as  far  as  eye  can  see  in 
calm  or  storm  —  a  dream  of  peace  or  a  nightmare  of 
horrors  —  is  one  vast  oval  of  wave  and  sky.  And  life, 
which  we  are  told  is  rounded  by  a  sleep,  must  conform 
to  nature's  laws,  or  beat  itself  against  the  walls  within 
whose  rugged  circumference  nature  dwells,  for,  as  nat 
ure  abhors  a  vacuum,  so  she  detests  an  angle,  particu 
larly  in  ideas,  engineering,  and  women. 

It  is  well  to  walk  in  a  straight  line,  but  the  man  who 
piques  himself  upon  doing  this,  looking  neither  back 
ward  nor  forward,  nor  to  the  right  nor  the  left,  is 
likely  after  a  while  to  strike  something,  and,  unless  his 
heart  is  of  stone,  or  iron,  be  sure  it  will  not  be  the 
obstruction  that  yields  the  right  of  way. 


29 


The  Compromises  of  Life 

Thackeray  once  wrote  a  queer  little  essay  entitled  "A 
Plea  for  Shams."  It  was  merely  a  protest  against 
brute  literalism  and  an  appeal  for  what  certain  cynics 
used  to  call  French  courtesy. 

"Tell  only  the  truth,"  exclaims  the  adage,  "but  do 
not  always  tell  the  truth,"  which  means  that  we  are 
not  obliged  to  tell  all  we  know  merely  because  we 
know  it  and  it  is  true.  "Who  gives  this  \voman  away?" 
says  the  clergyman  in  the  half-empty,  dim-lighted 
church.  "I  could,"  whispers  a  voice  away  down  the 
darkling  aisle.  "I  could,  but  I  won't,"  a  very  sensible 
conclusion,  as  we  must  all  allow. 

I  am  to  talk  to  you  this  evening  about  the  Com 
promises  of  Life.  That  means  that  I  am  to  talk  to  you 
about  a  great  many  things  connected  with  the  journey 
'twixt  Dan  and  Beersheba;  for,  as  I  have  said,  the 
world  we  live  in  is  a  compromise  with  warring  elements 
and  the  Government  we  support  is  a  compromise  with 
conflicting  interests,  while  life,  itself,  is  but  a  com 
promise  with  death.  If  each  man  and  each  woman  on 
our  planet  took  the  law  into  their  hands,  and  stood  for 
their  individual,  inalienable,  abstract  rights,  resolved 
to  have  their  will,  or  die,  the  result  might  vindicate 
the  everlasting  verities,  but  it  would  ultimately  leave 
mankind  and  womankind  in  the  position  of  the  two 
feline  controversialists  who  are  supposed  to  have  argued 
out  their  differences  to  a  logical  conclusion  in  the  good 
County  Kilkenny,  some  centuries  ago.  Happily,  it  is 

30 


The  Compromises  of  Life 

otherwise.  Reasonable  people  take  their  cue  from  nat 
ure,  whose  law  is  live  and  let  live,  and,  as  a  conse 
quence,  we  have  love  and  marriage,  trade  and  barter, 
politics  and  parties,  banks  and  babies,  railroads  and 
funerals,  courts  of  equity  and  churches  and  jails,  all 
regulated  by  a  system  of  time-tables  arranged  some 
where  beyond  the  stars  and  moving  toward  that  shore 
less  ocean  which  we  call  eternity,  and  which  will  pres 
ently  engulf  us  every  one. 

You  will,  I  dare  say,  think  me  both  paradoxical  and 
heterodoxical  when  I  declare  to  you  that  Truth  is 
sometimes  a  great  liar,  that  is  to  say  that  that  may  be 
true  to  the  letter  which  is  false  to  the  spirit,  and,  vice 
versa;  Truth,  made  by  malice  and  cunning  to  serve  the 
purpose  of  the  basest  wrong.  On  the  other  hand, 
there  are  certain  lies,  which  we  call  white  lies,  because 
they  are  meant  to  do  no  ill,  or  mischief,  but  the 
rather  are  intended  to  spare  sensibilities  and  to  save 
trouble.  Often  they  do  neither;  not  infrequently  they 
aggravate  both.  There  is  no  one  among  us,  I  am  sure, 
who  has  not  had  occasion  to  lament  the  miscarriage  of 
some  honest,  amiable  fiction,  contrived  as  we  thought 
most  ingeniously  to  prevent  White  from  knowing  just 
what  Black  said,  or  did,  and  for  putting  everybody  in  a 
good  humor.  The  angel  who  takes  account  of  these 
things  may  sigh  over  them,  though  I  fancy  in  the  end, 
as  was  observed  of  Uncle  Toby,  he  will  blot  them  off  his 
book  with  a  tear ;  because,  after  all,  they  are  only  com- 

31 


The  Compromises  of  Life 

promises  between  fact  and  fancy,  whose  roots,  spring 
ing  from  love,  or  pity,  have  been  watered  by  human 
kindness. 

A  quaint  old  friend  of  mine,  whose  copious  draughts 
from  the  well  of  English  picturesque  were  only  equalled 
by  his  great  integrity  of  character  and  goodness  of 
heart,  met  a  lady  acquaintance  at  an  evening  party, 
and  the  conversation  turned  upon  real  estate,  in  which 
the  two  had  considerable  interest. 

"Mrs.  Grundy,"  says  my  friend,  "you  shorely  didn't 
sell  that  lot  o'  your'n  on  Preston  Street  for  five  hundred 
dollars?" 

The  lady  said  she  certainly  had. 

"Why,  bless  me,"  says  my  friend,  "you  could  a'  got 
six  hundred  for  it!" 

Next  day  the  lady's  agent  called  on  my  friend,  offer 
ing  an  exact  duplicate  of  the  lot  in  question  and  de 
manding  the  advance  price,  according  to  the  terms  of 
the  conversation  of  the  previous  evening. 

"Why,  bless  me,"  exclaimed  my  friend,  "did  I  tell 
her  that?  Dear,  dear!  Why,  I  was  only  a-enter- 
tainin'  of  her!" 

This  was  the  gentleman  who,  being  asked  on  the 
witness-stand  how  he  made  his  living,  naively  replied: 
"A-going  of  security  and  a-paying  of  the  debt." 

In  neither  of  these  instances  was  he  strictly  accurate ; 
and  yet,  I  venture  to  believe  that,  in  that  land  where 
he  long  ago  went  to  make  his  home  forever,  he  has  paid 

32 


The  Compromises  of  Life 

whatever  penalty  was  fixed  on  the  harmless  compro 
mises  which  his  amiability  sometimes  made  with  the 
ruder  things  of  this  world. 

In  short,  life,  which  is  full  enough  of  corners,  every 
corner  having  it  briers  and  brambles,  would  be  unen 
durable  if  people  always  yielded  to  the  impulse  of  the 
moment,  and  nothing  to  good  sense  and  good  feeling, 
blurting  out  the  truth  just  as  the  humor  seized  them. 

The  truth  to-day  is  not  always  the  truth  to-morrow. 
Each  day  is  a  kaleidoscope,  changing  its  forms  and  fig 
ures  with  every  hour,  from  grave  to  gay,  from  lively  to 
severe,  from  morn  to  noon,  from  noon  to  dewy  eve,  and 
he  is  the  wisest  who  makes  the  most  happiness,  who 
inflicts  least  suffering,  and,  if  now  and  then  he  has  to 
throw  a  few  flowers  over  a  waste  place  here  and  there 
to  lure  some  poor  soul  into  the  illusion  that  it  is  a  gar 
den,  who  shall  speak  the  word  that  wakes  the  spell  and 
spoils  the  conceit?  Not  I,  indeed,  for  I  firmly  believe 
that 

"Where  ignorance  is  bliss, 
'Tis  folly  to  be  wise." 

Since  that  unlucky  misundertanding  between  Adam 
and  Eve  in  the  Garden  of  Eden  which  proved  so  disas 
trous  to  both  of  them,  and  some  of  whose  consequences 
you  and  I  are  still  discharging  through  love's  clearing 
house,  there  has  been  quite  a  rivalry  between  the  man 
and  the  woman  each  to  get  a  little  the  better  of  the 

33 


The  Compromises  of  Life 

other.  You  will  remember  that,  most  ungallantly,  most 
ungraciously,  and,  I  must  add,  most  imprudently,  Adam 
sought  to  cast  the  entire  burden  of  blame  in  the  matter 
of  the  apple  upon  Eve.  In  point  of  fact,  he  turned 
State's  evidence.  Well,  from  that  day  to  this,  Eve 
has  been  making  a  play  to  square  the  account  with 
Adam,  and,  as  a  result,  Adam  has  had  much  the 
worst  of  it. 

On  a  certain  bleak  winter  night,  when,  quite  numb 
with  cold,  he  has  left  his  boots  in  the  hall  below,  and 
slipped  off  his  outer  garments  at  the  bedroom  door,  he 
enters  cautiously,  gropes  his  way  to  the  bedside,  and, 
satisfying  himself  the  wife  is  asleep,  he  begins  to  rock 
the  cradle,  first  gently,  then  with  greater  energy.  At 
last,  when  he  is  nearly  frozen,  and  wholly  nonplussed 
by  the  profoundness  of  the  slumber  of  his  better  half, 
a  sleepy  voice,  in  which  he  fancies  he  detects  a  faint 
gurgle  of  irrelevant  mirth,  exclaims :  "Oh,  come  to  bed 
— the  baby  isn't  in  that  cradle!"  On  another  occa 
sion,  an  old  friend  of  mine  was  going  home  at  one  of 
the  "wee  short  hours  ayont  the  twal',"  accompanied  by 
a  young  journalist,  who,  of  course,  had  to  keep  late 
hours — all  journalists  do  so,  you  know — and  when 
they  had  reached  the  point  where  their  paths  diverged 
the  elder  said  to  the  younger:  "What  in  the  world  shall 
I  say  when  I  get  home?"  And  the  younger,  some  three 
years  married,  replied,  with  ready  resource  and  cheerful 
ness:  "Be  assured,  my  dear  Isaac,  it  is  much  best  to  speak 

34 


The  Compromises  of  Life 

the  truth.     I  shall  go  at  once  and  waken  my  wife,  and 
frankly  tell  her  the  press  broke  down !" 

It  is  much  best  to  speak  the  truth !  Yes,  but  I  think 
it  would  be  best  of  all  if  Adam  and  Eve  came  to  some 
understanding  about  these  matters;  if  they  reached 
some  mutual  agreement;  if  they  compromised  them,  so 
to  say. 

"And  these  few  precepts,  son-in-law,"  observed  an 
over-facetious  paterfamilias  at  breakfast  the  day  after 
the  wedding,  "when  you  get  off  with  the  boys  and  play 
the  noble  game,  quit  when  you  have  lost  what  you  can 
afford,  go  home  and  tell  Maria,  and  it  will  be  all  right. 
If  you  drink  a  drop  too  much,  realize  it,  go  home  to 
Maria,  who  will  bathe  your  brow,  and  it  will  be  all 
right.  But  on  one  point,  dear  son-in-law,  let  me  ad 
monish  you.  Where  there  is  a  woman  you  lie!  In 
order  that  in  some  moment  of  effusion,  or  inebriety,  you 
may  not  by  chance  slip  your  trolley  and  tell  the  truth, 
accustom  yourself  to  lying!" 

The  woman  is  in  perpetual  fear  of  the  man's  nature ; 
not  his  natural  wickedness,  or  depravity;  but  his  re 
dundant  vitality,  exposed  to  the  temptations  that 
habitually  assail  it.  And  well  she  may  be.  Well  for 
him,  well  for  her,  well  for  us  all.  A  world  of  wild 
beasts  we  should  become,  except  for  her  restraining 
moral  force,  her  exquisite  sense  of  good  and  evil,  her 
tenderness  and  love.  We  make  jokes  at  her  expense. 
We  rally  and  tease  her. 

35 


The  Compromises  of  Life 

"  Ah,  gentle  dames,  it  ga's  me  greet, 

To  think  how  mony  counsels  sweet, 
How  mony  lengthened,  sage  advices, 
The  husband  fra  the  wife  despises!" 

And,  half  amused,  yet  half  afraid  and  half  ashamed, 
we  picture  her 

"  Gathering  her  brows  like  gathering  storm, 
Nursing  her  wrath  to  keep  it  warm." 


But  "for  a'  that  and  a'  that,"  we,  too,  know  where  to 
draw  the  line,  and  we  do  draw  it — every  mother's  son 
of  us  who  is  worth  salt  enough  to  pickle  him — at  love 
and  duty,  at  the  home,  the  shrine  where  love  and  duty 
meet,  to  sing  on  earth  the  song  of  the  angels  in  Heaven. 

But  let  us  not  grow  sentimental.  Having  drawn 
the  line,  let  us  draw  the  curtain.  Affection  compro 
mises  all  things.  It  is  where  there  is  no  love,  out,  out 
upon  the  storm-laden  ocean  of  life — in  the  world  of 
affairs,  where  men  meet  in  furious  contention,  where 
the  play  of  The  Rivals  is  not  a  comedy,  but  a  tragedy, 
where  all  is  strife — commercial,  political — avarice  play 
ing  at  hide-and-seek  with  honor,  and  expediency  pour 
ing  lies  into  the  pliant  ear  of  ambition — every  man  for 
himself,  the  devil  to  get  the  hindmost — each  tub  to 
stand  on  its  own  bottom — it  is  here  where  the  shoe 
pinches,  here  that  good  men,  great  men,  know  the  true 
need  and  meaning  of  tolerance,  the  God-like  wisdom  of 
the  spirit  of  compromise. 

36 


The  Compromises  of  Life 

Of  what  value  were  Jay  Gould's  millions — of  what 
value  a  single  one  of  his  dollars — if  over  and  beyond 
his  wants  a  penny  was  gained  at  the  cost  of  the  blood 
and  tears  of  one  good  man  or  woman  ?  Of  what  value 
were  Napoleon's  victories?  But,  stay!  Let  me  relate 
a  parable,  a  fable  with  a  moral,  which  might  have 
happened  any  time  these  years  of  wondrous,  romantic 
achievement  upon  the  modern  arena  of  battle — our  field 
of  the  cloth  of  gold — the  Stock  Exchange. 

A  young  man  of  four  or  five  and  twenty,  poorly  clad, 
much  under  the  average  height,  eyes  deep-sunken  and 
of  piercing  blackness,  thin,  pale  lips,  wanders  vacantly, 
restlessly,  about  this  Stock  Exchange.  He  roams  in 
and  out  of  its  galleries  like  a  caged  lion.  He  gazes 
wistfully  over  the  balconies  into  the  seething  pit  below. 
He  sees  men  pushing,  hauling,  howling,  money-mad. 
Day  in  and  day  out  the  same ;  always  the  same ;  though 
not  for  him.  But,  why  not?  Why  not?  He  knows  no 
one  who  could  secure  him  access  there.  He  has  not  a 
dollar,  even  if  he  could  obtain  access.  And  yet  he  has 
evolved  out  of  the  darkness  and  desolation  that  sur 
round  him  a  secret  which,  if  he  had  the  opportunity  and 
the  means  of  applying  it,  would  yield  him  mill 
ions. 

Accident  throws  this  young  man  into  the  society  of 
a  young  woman  nearly  as  poor  as  himself,  but  beautiful 
and  bright  and  noble.  He  loves  her.  She  loves  him. 
In  the  confidence  of  that  love  he  discloses  his  secret  to 

37 


The  Compromises  of  Life 

her.  She  listens,  amazed,  delighted.  When  he  has 
finished  his  recital  she  exclaims : 

"Why,  with  this  astonishing  knowledge,  how  comes 
it  you  are  in  rags?" 

"Alas,"  says  he,  "I  have  not  a  penny  in  the  world. 
I  have  not  a  friend  in  the  world.  With  a  knowledge 
that  has  power  to  revolutionize  the  fiscal  universe,  I 
am  as  helpless,  hopeless  as  a  child !" 

This  woman  is  a  woman  of  genius.  She  is  a  woman 
of  action.  She  seizes  the  situation  with  the  instinct  of 
her  nature. 

"Why,"  she  exclaims,  "I  have  very  little  money ;  but 
you  need  very  little.  Take  it.  I  know  the  President 
of  the  Stock  Exchange.  I  will  introduce  you  to  him. 
He  will  introduce  you  upon  the  floor.  You,  and  this 
wondrous  discovery  of  yours,  will  do  the  rest." 

He  falls  upon  his  knees.  He  clasps  her  in  his  arms. 
He  will  go  and  get  his  millions.  He  will  make  her  his 
wife — nay,  they  will  be  married  at  once — they  will  not 
delay  a  moment,  because  before  to-morrow's  day  and 
night  are  over  they  will  be  rich,  famous,  and  will  live 
forever  happy,  loving  one  another  and  doing  good  all 
the  rest  of  their  days. 

They  are  married.  She  is  true  to  her  word.  He  is 
true  to  his.  He  appears  in  the  midst  of  that  mad 
throng — this  strange  little  man  with  the  miraculous 
secret.  No  one  observes  him ;  no  one  divines  his  secret ; 
only  the  President  of  the  Stock  Exchange,  to  whom 

38 


The  Compromises  of  Life 

he  has  been  presented,  and  who  has  admitted  him  to 
the  floor,  has  a  friendly  eye  upon  him.  But  his  lines 
laid  and,  his  little  all  upon  them,  that  awful  secret 
begins  to  work  like  magic.  A  thousand  dollars  is 
quickly  ten  thousand,  ten  thousand  a  hundred  thousand, 
a  hundred  thousand  a  million,  a  million  fifty  millions, 
and,  amid  the  crash  of  fortunes  and  the  fury  of  such  a 
tempest  as  the  world  never  knew  before,  the  President 
comes  down  from  his  seat,  and  the  young,  the  veritable 
young  Napoleon  of  finance,  is  personally  made  known 
to  the  money  kings  and  princes,  some  of  whom  he  has 
ruined,  others  of  whom  he  has  crippled,  and  all  of 
whom  he  has  brought  to  his  feet! 

And  the  woman  who  has  enabled  him  to  do  all  this? 
Oh,  she  has  been  in  the  gallery  up  there.  She  has  seen 
it  all.  First  frightened,  then  appalled,  then  delirious 
with  joy,  she  has  watched  every  turn  of  the  wheel  and 
known  what  turned  it  and  who.  The  day  is  hardly 
half  over.  But  the  battle  is  fought  and  won.  She 
bids  him  come — come  to  the  arms  of  a  loving  wife — 
come  to  the  rest  of  a  happy  home — come,  with  riches, 
honors,  all  that  fortune  can  give  to  man,  e'en  to  that 
blessed  peace  that  passeth  understanding.  Oh,  no.  He 
is  not  going  to  do  anything  of  the  kind.  He  has  only 
ruined  half  the  Stock  Exchange.  He  is  going  back 
to  ruin  the  other  half.  Ah,  well — what  would  you 
say  of  that  man  if,  going  back  to  ruin  the  other  half, 
he  lost  all  he  had  gained,  including  his  original  stake, 

39 


The  Compromises  of  Life 

and  found  himself  at  midnight,  his  mystery  exploded 
and  his  fair  young  bride  lying  dead  there  before  him, 
dead  of  grief  and  despair?  What  would  you  say  if  he 
found  himself  alone,  abandoned  and  locked  safely  and 
forever  in  prison  walls? 

You  know  the  story  of  Napoleon.  It  is  related  by 
Metternich  that  during  that  famous  interview  at  Dres 
den,  that  lasted,  without  food  or  interruption,  from 
eight  in  the  morning  till  eight  at  night,  he,  represent 
ing  the  Allied  Powers,  offered  Napoleon  peace  with  a 
larger  France  than  he  had  found,  and  the  confirmation 
of  his  dynasty,  and  that  Napoleon  refused  it.  He 
wanted  all  or  nothing.  He  was  going  to  ruin  the  other 
half.  So  he  rushed  upon  Austria,  and  England,  and 
Russia — who  were  still  able  to  stand  against  him — and 
Waterloo — and  before  the  day  was  over  he  found  him 
self  a  General  without  an  army,  an  Emperor  without 
a  throne,  flying  for  his  life,  to  be  caught  and  locked  up 
like  the  ill-starred,  unthinking,  though  brilliant,  ad 
venturer  that  he  was.  He  had  lost  all,  including  his 
original  stake — 

"  He  fought,  and  half  the  world  was  his, 

He  died  without  a  rood  his  own ; 
And  borrowed  of  his  enemies 
Six  foot  of  ground  to  lie  upon." 

Do  you  not  think  he  had  better  have  compromised 
with  the  Powers  before  it  was  too  late?  I  do,  and, 
standing,  as  I  have  often  stood,  beneath  that  lofty  dome 

40 


The   Compromises  of  Life 

in  the  Hospital  of  the  Invalides  in  Paris,  and  looking 
down  into  that  marble  crypt  upon  the  wondrous  tomb 
below,  and  conceiving  the  glory  meant  to  be  there  cele 
brated  it  has  seemed  to  me  a  kind  of  gilded  hell,  with  a 
sleeping  devil,  planned  by  fiends  incarnate  to  lure  men, 
and  particularly  French  men,  to  perdition.  And  I 
never  leave  that  place,  with  its  dreary  splendor,  that 
somehow  the  words  of  a  poor,  ragged  French  poet  do 
not  come  singing  into  my  heart : 

"  Oh,  if  I  were  Queen  of  France, 

Or  still  better  Pope  of  Rome, 
I'd  have  no  fighting  men  abroad, 

No  weeping  maids  at  home ; 
All  the  world  should  be  at  peace. 

And  if  Kings  must  show  their  might, 
Let  those  who  make  the  quarrels 

Be  the  only  ones  to  fight." 

I  would  compromise  war.  I  would  compromise 
glory.  I  would  compromise  everything  at  that  point 
where  hate  comes  in,  where  misery  comes  in,  where 
love  ceases  to  be  love  and  life  begins  its  descent  in  the 
shadow  of  the  valley  of  death. 

I  would  not  compromise  Truth.  I  would  not  com 
promise  the  Right.  I  would  not  compromise  con 
science  and  conviction  in  any  matter  of  pith  and  mo 
ment  involving  real  duty.  There  are  times  when  one 
must  stand  and  fight,  when  one  must  fight  and  die. 
But  such  times  are  exceptional;  they  are  most  excep- 

41 


The  Compromises  of  Life 

tional;  one  cannot  without  making  himself  ridiculous 
be  always  wrapping  the  flag  around  him  and  marching 
down  to  the  foot-lights,  to  display  his  extraordinary 
valor  and  virtue.  And,  in  the  long  intervals,  how 
often  the  best  of  us  are  mistaken  as  to  what  is  Truth, 
as  to  what  is  Right,  as  to  what  is  Duty.  Too  often 
they  are  what  we  would  have  them  to  be.  Too  often 
that  which  we  want  to  do  becomes  that  which  we 
ought  to  do. 

It  will  hardly  be  denied  by  those  who  know  me  that 
I  have  opinions  and  adhere  to  them  with  some  steadi 
ness.  On  occasions  I  am  afraid  that  I  have  expressed 
them  with  too  great  plainness  and  positivity,  and  too 
little  regard  to  the  opinions  of  others.  Well,  there 
are  moments  when  the  thought  comes  to  my  mind  that 
the  other  fellow,  who  doesn't  agree  with  me  or  my 
opinions,  may  not  be  such  a  bad  fellow  after  all ;  maybe 
both  of  us  are  right;  maybe  neither  of  us;  for,  in  the 
end,  how  rarely  things  come  round  just  as  they  were 
planned;  yet  still  the  world  goes  jogging  along,  pre 
cisely  as  if  you  and  I  did  not  live  in  it. 

Why  should  neighbors,  who  ought  to  be  friends  and 
brothers,  quarrel  about  transactions  that  can  never  pen 
etrate  their  roof-tree's  shade  ?  Why  should  differences 
about  public  affairs  a  thousand  miles  away  make  pri 
vate  enmities  at  home?  I  am  sure  I  never  loved  any 
man  less  because  he  did  not  agree  with  me.  I  may  think 
him  a  fool — of  course — and  tell  him  so — if  he  isn't  a 

42 


The  Compromises  of  Life 

bigger  man  than  I  am,  or,  better,  if  he  is  one  of  those 
big-hearted  creatures  who  will  only  laugh  at  me — but 
I  shall  not  question  either  his  motive  or  his  sincerity. 
Those  are  his  prerogatives,  as  they  are  mine,  and,  if  I 
think  him  a  fool,  there  is  no  law  compelling  me  to  keep 
his  company;  only  I  do  keep  it  all  the  same,  because, 
somehow,  in  spite  of  our  occasional  tiffs,  we  just  natu 
rally  love  one  another,  and,  kneeling  by  the  bedside  of 
a  sick  child,  or  standing  before  the  grave  of  a  dead 
comrade,  how  mean  and  paltry  seem  the  discussions  we 
had  about  bimetallism  and  monometallism,  and  high 
tariff  and  low  tariff,  and  the  line!  What  is  Lilly 
O'Killarney,  the  Hawaiian  maiden  from  Blarney  Cas 
tle,  what  is  she  to  me,  or  I  to  her,  that  I  should  weep 
for  her?  What  is  it  to  you  whether  raw  sugar  be  on 
the  dutiable  list,  or  free?  To  us  in  Kentucky  now — 
who  always  take  sugar  in  ours — but  that  is  a  mere 
quibble  of  words,  and  I  will  not  pursue  the  theme ! 

Thank  God  we  live  in  a  free  land.  It  is  every 
man's  business  to  believe  something,  or  to  fancy  that  he 
does.  It  is  every  man's  duty  to  vote,  and  he  ought  to 
vote  according  as  he  thinks,  or  as  he  thinks  he  is  think 
ing.  That  makes  what  we  call  politics.  That  makes 
what  we  call  parties.  They  are  the  glory  of  free  in 
stitutions.  And  then,  after  we  have  finished  voting  as 
we  thought  we  were  thinking,  we  disperse  to  our  sev 
eral  homes,  leaving  a  huddle  of  gentlemen,  who  pass  as 
our  representatives,  to  go  to  Washington.  We  call 

43 


The  Compromises  of  Life 

them  politicians.  They  call  themselves  statesmen. 
We  pay  them — though  not  very  adequately — to  run 
the  Government.  Well,  they  go  to  Washington  and 
they  run  it — the  Government — and,  if  they  don't  suit 
— and  they  generally  don't — we  turn  them  out  and 
send  others  to  take  their  places,  and  so  on  ad  infinitum. 
And  thus  we  keep  up  free  America,  permeated  by  free 
institutions  and  free  ideas,  and  a  free,  but  sometimes  a 
ribald  press. 

Now  and  then,  wre  get  a  man  at  Washington  who  is 
clever  enough  to  stay  there  a  long,  long  time;  and  he 
becomes  a  leader;  a  great  leader;  a  great  Republican 
leader;  or  a  great  Democratic  leader;  he  knows  his 
business ;  but,  in  reality,  he  has  lost  his  identity ;  for  you 
just  follow  any  two  of  these  leaders,  after  they  have 
fought  that  sham  battle  on  the  floor  which  has  so 
edified  their  constituents  in  the  gallery — you  just 
follow  them  downstairs  or  upstairs,  and  see  how  snugly 
they  take  their  cold  tea  together;  they  have  been  there 
so  long  that  they  understand  one  another;  they  under 
stand  one  another  too  well,  perhaps ;  they  actually  love 
one  another ;  they  are  obliged  to ;  they  know  too  much ; 
they  could  not  afford  anything  else.  They,  at  least, 
have  learned  how  to  compromise  everything  except  their 
seats  in  Congress. 

But  if  it  be  wise  to  agree  to  disagree  one  with  an 
other  about  the  affairs  of  this  world  toward  the  deter 
mination  of  which  no  one  of  us  has  more  than  his  sin- 

44 


The  Compromises  of  Life 

gle  vote,  why  should  we  grow  angry  and  dispute  about 
the  affairs  of  the  world  to  come,  toward  the  determina 
tion  of  which  no  one  of  us  has  any  vote  at  all  ? 

I  cannot  rid  myself  of  the  impression  that  there  are 
many  roads  leading  to  Heaven.  To  be  sure,  I  know 
nothing  about  it,  actually,  and,  as  a  matter  of  fact, 
because  I  have  never  been  there;  though  I  have  some 
times  thought  I  might  be,  and  have  always  nursed  the 
hope  that  I  was  on  the  way.  But  what  way?  Well, 
I  have  had  some  advantages.  I  was  born  in  the  Presby 
terian  Church,  baptized  in  the  Catholic  Church,  edu 
cated  in  the  Episcopal  Church,  and  married  into  the 
Church  of  the  Disciples.  I  came  so  near  being  made 
a  Doctor  of  Divinity  once  that  it  took  the  interposition 
of  two  bishops  and  a  school-master  to  limit  the  investi 
ture  to  that  of  Common  Law.  I  do  not  think  myself 
wanting  in  seriousness  as  to  religion,  or  sincerity  of 
allegiance  to  that  sublime  faith  which  has  come  to  us 
from  Calvary.  But,  for  the  life  of  me,  I  have  never 
had  it  in  my  heart  to  hate  any  human  being  because  he 
chose  to  worship  God  according  to  his  conscience. 

Perusing  the  story  of  the  dark  ages,  when  men  were 
burnt  at  the  stake  for  the  heresy  of  refusing  to  bow  to 
the  will  of  the  majority,  it  is  not  the  voice  of  the 
Protestant  or  Catholic  that  issues  from  the  flames  and 
reaches  my  heart,  but  the  cry  of  suffering  man,  my 
brother!  To  me  a  saint  is  a  saint,  whether  he  wears 
wooden  shoes,  or  goes  barefoot;  whether  he  gets  his 

45 


The  Compromises  of  Life 

baptism  out  of  a  font  of  holy  water  blessed  by  the 
Church  of  his  adoration,  or  whether,  dripping  from 
head  to  heels,  he  comes  up  from  the  waters  of  Jordan 
shouting  the  hallelujah  of  his  forefathers!  From  my 
very  boyhood  the  persecution  of  man  for  opinion's  sake 
— no  matter  for  what  opinion's  sake — has  aroused 
within  me  the  only  devil  I  have  ever  personally  known. 
When  I  was  a  child,  some  six  or  seven  years  old,  I 
had  an  experience  which  has  pursued  me  through  life 
and  whose  impressions  have  colored  all  my  after 
thoughts.  I  was  spending  the  winter  with  my  grand 
parents.  My  grandfather  was  a  Southern  planter. 
He  was  the  owner  of  a  great  plantation.  He  was  mas 
ter  of  many  slaves.  Among  these  slaves  was  Isaac,  a 
likely  young  fellow,  who  was  good  to  me,  and  carried 
me  afield  in  the  early  mornings  and  told  me  stories  by 
the  cabin  log-heap  in  the  evenings,  and  became,  accord 
ing  to  the  fashion  of  those  times,  my  Uncle  Isaac. 
One  day  my  Uncle  Isaac  was  ordered  by  the  Overseer 
to  be  whipped  for  some  peccadillo.  I  did  not  under 
stand  the  meaning  of  what  was  going  forward,  but  I 
watched  with  serious,  childlike  interest.  The  man 
was  brought  out  and  bound,  the  Overseer  standing  ex 
pectant,  brandishing  that  dreadful  weapon  of  his.  My 
Uncle  Isaac  looked  at  me.  He  looked  at  me  in  a  poor, 
weak,  beseeching  way.  Then  I  realized  it  all.  I 
went  straight  up  to  the  Overseer  and  put  forth  my 
little  plea.  The  Overseer  was  a  Legree.  There 

46 


The  Compromises  of  Life 

stood  his  victim,  and  he  was  not  to  be  deprived  of  his 
prey.  The  lash  was  raised  with  one  hand  while  I  was 
held  back  with  the  other.  Then  the  devil  I  spoke  of 
just  now,  or,  was  it  some  Angel?  inspired  me  with 
superhuman  strength.  I  bit  the  brute's  hands  till  they 
bled,  I  scratched  his  face  as  he  lifted  me  in  his  arms  to 
set  me  out  of  reach,  I  screamed  like  one  distraught. 
For  half  a  minute  I  was  more  than  that  giant's  match. 
At  last  they  bore  me  away  and  locked  me  up  in  an 
upper  chamber,  where  I  ran  about  shrieking  and  beating 
upon  the  doors  and  windows.  I  can  still  see  the  dark 
green  of  the  closed  shutters.  I  can  still  hear  that  black 
man's  cries.  But  there  were  no  more  whippings  while 
I  remained  on  that  plantation.  My  grandfather  was 
so  impressed  that  he  made  me  a  deed  of  gift  to  my 
Uncle  Isaac,  and,  afterward,  when  I  grew  toward  man 
hood,  I  gave  him  his  freedom.  He  fell  upon  the  field 
of  battle  wearing  a  blue  uniform,  and  that's  the  only 
"nigger"  I  ever  owned,  thank  God!  But  that  early 
shock  set  me  a  lesson  in  the  true  relation  of  human 
freedom  to  despotic  power,  which  has  abided  with  me 
ever  since,  branching  out  in  every  direction  where  I 
have  thought  I  saw  the  strong  lording  it  over  the  weak, 
whether  by  pressure  of  the  mailed  hand,  or  the  mere 
force  of  numbers.  As  a  consequence,  I  have  spent  the 
greater  part  of  my  life  in  the  minority  and  in  opposi 
tion! 

Near  the  upper  end  of  the  Lake  of  Geneva,  in 
47 


The  Compromises  of  Life 

Switzerland,  there  is  a  famous  old  castle.  Seen  from 
the  lake,  it  is  an  incongruous  white  pile  of  towers  and 
gables  and  bastions.  But  it  will  repay  the  tourist  to 
go  ashore  and  to  cross  the  drawbridge  which  admits 
him  to  an  inner  and  nearer  view.  Even  in  this  practi 
cal  and  enlightened  age,  when  dungeons  no  longer 
yawn  to  swallow  the  helpless  and  racks  are  no  more 
raised  to  torment  the  proscribed,  and  when  they  who 
are  freest  seem  least  to  be  jealous  and  proud  of  their 
freedom,  it  is  impossible  for  any  thoughtful  man  to 
come  here  and  to  stand  writhin  these  walls,  and  to  go 
away  again  without  having  his  love  of  liberty  refreshed 
and  his  detestation  for  oppression  renewed,  for  it  was 
here  that  the  patriot  Bonnivard  passed  seventeen 
years,  chained  to  one  of  the  stone  pillars  of  the  Castle 
keep,  suggesting  the  motive  for  Byron's  immortal  poem, 
"The  Prisoner  of  Chillon." 

In  this  light,  the  Castle  of  Chillon  becomes  at  once 
a  fortress  and  a  shrine,  from  which  there  is  as  little 
chance  of  escape  for  free  and  loving  hearts  to-day  as 
during  the  long,  dark  night  of  its  blood  and  terror 
there  was  for  its  victims. 

You  are  shown  the  Star  Chamber,  which  they  called 
The  Hall  of  Justice.  You  pass  into  the  torture-room, 
and  behold  its  cruel,  horrible  implements.  You  de 
scend  the  narrow,  winding  stairway  into  the  Vesti 
bule  of  Executions.  On  the  one  hand  is  the  stone  bed 
on  which  the  condemned  spent  their  last  night  upon 

48 


The  Compromises  of  Life 

earth,  and,  on  the  other,  the  dungeon  reserved  for 
those  who  were  not  given  the  happiness  to  die.  And 
there — just  before  you  in  the  wall — next  to  the  lake — 
is  the  casement  through  which  they  slid  the  bodies  of 
the  slain. 

You  enter  the  dungeon.  It  is  just  as  Byron  describes 
it  in  his  poem.  The  seven  columns  are  there,  and  the 
scant  clefts  in  the  rocks  which  admit  a  little  sunlight. 
Upon  three  of  the  columns  still  hang  the  iron  rings 
that  held  the  chains  that  fastened  the  prisoners. 
Around  the  column  to  which  Bonnivard  was  chained 
for  seventeen  years  appear  the  marks  worn  by  his  foot 
steps,  and,  just  above  them — carved  by  himself — his 
name  in  rude  letters,  and  close  by  it  the  names  of 
Byron  and  Victor  Hugo.  They  are  all  gone  now,  the 
hero  of  the  fourteenth  century,  the  singers  of  the  nine 
teenth  ;  contemporaries  at  last  before  the  eternal  throne ; 
but  from  those  letters  that  repeat  their  names  there 
rings  out  from  the  rocks  a  voice  that  seems  to  irradiate 
the  gloom  and  to  echo  round  the  globe. 

"  Chillon!    Thy  prison  is  a  holy  place! 

And  thy  sad  floor  an  altar — for  'twas  trod 
Until  the  very  steps  have  left  a  trace, 

Worn,  as  if  thy  cold  pavement  were  a  sod 
By  Bonnivard !    May  none  these  marks  efface, 

For  they  appeal  from  tyranny  to  God !" 

I  have  seen  worse  places,  ranker,  darker,  fouler  places, 
but  never  one  more  hideous  in  its  suggestiveness,  be- 

49 


The  Compromises  of  Life 

cause,  the  story  of  Bonnivard  and  the  poem  of  Byron 
apart,  therein  is  concentrated  and  typified  all  that  was 
brutal  in  feudalism,  all  that  was  cruel  in  bigotry,  all 
that  was  heroic  in  resistance.  They  did  not  know  any 
thing  about  the  compromises  of  life  in  those  days. 
Might  alone  was  right,  and  the  axe,  the  gibbet,  and  the 
stake  were  the  arguments  which  power  relied  on  to 
carry  forward  its  campaigns  of  education  and  reform. 

I  have  said  that  the  Government  under  which  we 
live  is  a  compromise  between  conflicting  interests.  It 
is  less  so  now  than  it  once  was,  but  it  must  always  rest 
upon  the  basis  of  compromise,  and,  assuredly,  except  for 
many  compromises  in  the  beginning,  it  would  never 
have  existed  at  all. 

No  one  can  read  the  story  of  the  struggle  for  free 
dom  in  America  without  an  awe-struck  sense  of  the 
presence  of  God's  hand  from  first  to  last. 

The  long  debate  between  loyalty  and  liberty  was 
vexed  by  painful  doubts  of  what  was  right  and  what 
was  wrong,  and  the  resort  to  arms  was  full  of  practical 
difficulties.  The  Colonies  were  not  all  alike,  nor  were 
they  of  one  mind.  They  were  but  sparse  communities, 
lying  wide  apart.  They  were  scattered  along  the  At 
lantic  seaboard.  There  were  no  railways,  or  telegraph ; 
and  the  voice  of  old  Samuel  Adams  in  Massachusetts 
could  not  reach  the  ears  of  young  Thomas  Jefferson 
in  Virginia  even  through  the  medium  of  that  spiritual 
telephone,  which,  they  knew  not  how,  or  why,  made 
50 


The  Compromises  of  Life 

their  hearts  to  beat  together.  But  the  unseen  hand  of 
God  was  there  to  point  the  way;  He  assembled  the 
Continental  Congress ;  wrote  the  sublime  Declaration ; 
summoned  armies  into  the  field  and  placed  Washington 
at  their  head;  and,  against  incredible  odds,  internal 
and  external,  he  won  a  battle  that  was  to  emancipate 
millions. 

The  trial  did  not  end  here. 

When  the  Revolutionary  War  was  over  a  nation  had 
still  to  be  formed ;  and  here  again  the  hand  of  God  in 
the  work  of  forging  a  government  amid  a  chaos  and  of 
framing  a  Constitution  out  of  the  insubstantial  fabrics 
of  the  patriot's  dream  of  liberty.  They  came,  these 
nation-makers,  with  the  blessing  of  God  upon  them,  and 
what  they  could  not  agree  upon  they  compromised.  If 
they  had  not,  who  shall  tell  the  altered  course  of  his 
tory?  I  tremble  to  think  what  the  world  might  be 
to-day,  except  for  the  spirit  of  patriotic  and  reasonable 
concession  which  brought  Madison  and  Jay  and  Ham 
ilton  together  in  the  advocacy  of  a  plan  of  government 
entirely  acceptable  to  no  one  of  them.  They  compro 
mised  some  things  which  gave  infinite  trouble  to  their 
descendants.  They  left  open  to  double  construction 
some  things  which  afterward  led  the  way  to  a  great 
war  of  sections,  imperilling  the  good  they  had  done 
their  country  in  the  making  of  the  Constitution  as  well 
as  the  good  that  had  been  done  to  man  in  the  Declara 
tion  of  Independence  and  the  War  of  the  Revolution. 

51 


The  Compromises  of  Life 

What  then  ?  Why,  they  dug  the  foundations  of  human 
freedom  broad  and  deep;  they  laid  the  foundations  of 
popular  government  high  and  strong;  and  the  proof  is 
that  here  it  is  this  blessed  moment,  a  monument  of  the 
wisdom  of  those  compromises  which  are  made  in  faith 
and  love,  for  God's  sake  and  for  man's  sake. 

I  have  lived  through  an  epoch  of  sore  travail.  I  was 
born  in  the  national  capital  and  grew  to  manhood  there. 
I  was  brought  into  close,  personal  contact  with  the  men 
who  made  disunion  possible.  I  saw  the  struggle  to 
save  the  Union ;  and  the  struggle  to  destroy  it.  I  saw 
the  good  men  of  the  North  and  the  good  men  of  the 
South  bravely,  nobly  join  heart  and  hand  to  maintain 
the  compromises  on  which  the  Union  rested.  I  saw 
those  compromises  one  by  one  sink  beneath  the  waves 
of  sectional  bitterness,  artfully  stimulated,  and  partisan 
interest,  craftily  pointed.  I  knew  the  secret  springs  of 
personal  ambition  which  were  playing  upon  the  popular 
credulity,  and  lashing  it  into  a  frenzy.  As  one  of  the 
day's  reporters  for  the  Associated  Press,  I  stood  by  the 
side  of  Lincoln  when  he  delivered  his  first  inaugural 
address,  and  as  I  looked  out  over  that  vast  throng  of 
assembled  Americans,  wrought  to  fury  by  the  passions 
of  the  time,  I  knew  that  it  meant  war;  and  I  thought 
the  heart  within  me,  boy's  that  it  was,  would  break, 
for  I  loved  my  country,  its  glorious  traditions,  its 
glorious  Union,  its  incalculable  uses  to  liberty  and 
humanity. 

52 


The  Compromises  of  Life 

There  was  no  sunshine  in  the  heavens.  There  was 
no  verdure  on  the  hills.  All  seemed  lost.  Hate  and 
strife  ruled  the  hour;  and,  one  side  as  resolute  as  the 
other,  the  dove  took  her  flight  from  earth,  leaving  the 
raven  in  her  nest. 

But  all  was  not  lost.  God  was  with  us  even  then, 
though  we  did  not  see  Him,  and  He  builded  wiser  than 
we  knew,  because  are  we  not  here  this  night,  proud  and 
happy,  our  Republic  stronger  than  ever  it  was,  all  the 
old  contentions  settled,  the  monster  of  slavery  gone  for 
ever,  the  monster  of  secession  gone  forever,  our  Gov 
ernment  the  marvel  of  the  ages,  rescued  from  every 
assault  which  has  menaced  and  shattered  feudal  mon 
archies  and  dynasties ;  the  flag  flying  at  last  as  Webster 
would  have  had  it  fly,  bearing  upon  its  ample  folds,  as 
it  floats  over  the  land  and  the  sea,  those  words,  dear  to 
every  American  heart,  union  and  liberty,  now  and  for 
ever,  one  and  inseparable!  All  was  not  lost,  though 
perilously  near  it. 

As  I  go  back  from  the  age  of  achievement  in  which 
we  live,  to  the  age  of  experiment  from  which  we 
emerged — tracing  the  early  footsteps  of  the  pathfinders 
— noting  how  some  faltered  and  some  fell  by  the  way — 
how  some  doubted  and  passed  to  the  rear — how,  even 
Gouverneur  Morris,  the  beau  sabreur  of  liberty,  and 
Timothy  Pickering,  its  shield-and-buckler,  and  Josiah 
Quincy,  its  very  torch,  goaded  by  a  mistaken  sense  of 
wrong,  as  later  on  the  leaders  of  the  South  were  lured 

53 


The  Compromises  of  Life 

by  an  economic  fallacy,  into  the  quagmire  of  secession — 
one  colossal  figure  rises  before  me.  From  1820,  when 
over  the  admission  of  Missouri  to  Statehood  the  slavery 
question  began  its  checkered  career  of  strife  and  blood, 
to  1850,  when  the  sections  seemed  to  have  arrived  at  a 
definite  understanding,  the  great  heart  and  firm  hand 
of  Henry  Clay,  supported  by  his  irresistible  personality, 
held  the  scales  so  true  in  the  balance  that  neither  ex 
tremist  could  get  in  his  work  of  disintegration.  Even 
Calhoun  was  forced  to  alight  from  his  high  horse  and 
to  yield,  under  the  guise  of  a  compromise,  the  case 
of  South  Carolina.  Even  Jackson,  Clay's  relentless 
enemy,  was  obliged  to  sign  Clay's  compromise  Tariff 
Act  as  part  of  the  price  of  his  own  Force  Bill. 

1  am  a  Free  Trader  in  the  sense  that  I  believe 
the  Government  has  no  right  either  constitutional  or 
equitable  to  levy  and  collect  a  dollar  of  taxation  except 
for  its  own  support,  while  Mr.  Clay  was  a  Protection 
ist  and  the  father  of  a  protective  system  which  I  think, 
and  have  always  thought,  fallacious  as  an  economic 
policy,  both  oppressive  and  unjust  as  a  method  of  rais 
ing  revenue;  but,  when  I  recall  the  crises  of  1820,  of 
1 832-33,  and  of  1850,  theories  of  taxation  sink  into  in 
significance  before  the  transcendent  issue  of  the  national 
integrity,  until,  losing  sight  of  the  Protectionist,  I  stand 
reverent  in  the  presence  of  the  Unionist. 

I  once  heard  Mr.  Fillmore  relate  that  on  a  certain 
occasion  Mr.  Webster  had  said  to  him,  "Fillmore,  I 

54 


The  Compromises  of  Life 

like  Clay — I   very  much   regard   Clay — but  he  rides 

rough,  d d  rough."     Yet  Clay's  was  the  genius  of 

compromise  which  actually  piloted  the  sections  away 
from  secession  and  war  during  forty  years  of  national 
development,  making  the  final  resort  to  arms  so  unequal 
as  to  be  futile.  I  am  prouder  of  being  a  Kentuckian 
because  Clay  was  a  Kentuckian,  prouder  of  my  Virginia 
pedigree  because  Clay  was  born  in  Virginia.  He  came 
into  the  world  a  peace-maker — one  of  those  peace-mak 
ers  who  would  have  peace  if  he  had  to  fight  for  it — 
dominancy  so  fused  with  conciliation,  so  reasonable,  and 
sagacious,  as  to  inspire  admiration  while  it  compelled 
obedience.  More  truly  even  than  Webster  was  he  an 
American;  the  antitype,  as  he  was  the  file-leader,  of 
Lincoln,  whom  Grady  not  inaptly  designated  "the  first 
typical  American." 

I  never  saw  him,  never  heard  his  voice,  never  took 
his  hand — though  I  have  passed  many  happy  hours  be 
neath  the  roof  of  his  Ashland,  and  carry  in  priceless 
estimation  the  memory  of  the  loved  ones  there — for 
notwithstanding  that  I  grew  up  in  Washington  and 
was  old  enough  to  understand  something  of  public  men 
and  affairs  when  he  died,  mine  was  the  Democrat,  not 
the  Whig  camp,  and  in  those  days  party  lines  were 
already  inexorable.  A  very  young  man,  a  student  of 
letters — indeed,  as  I  may  say  with  the  young  ladies  in 
"The  Vicar  of  Wakefield,"  "of  Shakespeare  and  the 
musical  glasses" — and  quite  a  walking  arsenal  of 

55 


The  Compromises  of  Life 

audacity  and  misinformation,  I  was  disparaging  Mr. 
Clay,  whose  speeches  did  not  read  up  to  their  reputa 
tion,  in  favor  of  Mr.  Webster,  whose  sonorous  rhetoric 
had  captivated  me,  when  my  father,  an  old-line,  dyed- 
in-the-wool  Jackson  Democrat,  interposed  to  rebuke 
my  unguarded  loquacity.  "My  son,"  said  he,  "this  is 
not  the  first  time  I  have  heard  you  express  those  opin 
ions.  They  discredit  nobody  but  yourself.  I  don't 
care  how  Mr.  Clay's  speeches  read,  or  what  you  think 
of  him;  he  was  the  greatest  orator  I  ever  heard,  a 
patriot,  and  a  born  leader,  a  veritable  king  of  men." 
Those  who  remember  the  Old  Fogy,  and  my  relations 
to  him,  need  not  be  told  that  I  subsided  at  once.  But, 
as  I  have  grown  older  in  years,  and,  may  I  not  hope, 
a  little  in  wisdom  and  grace — as  I  have  come  to  realize 
in  the  practical  business  both  of  politics  and  life — both 
of  the  fireside  and  the  forum — what  it  means  to  give 
and  take — particularly  to  endure — the  clearer  do  I  see, 
the  more  do  I  reverence  the  character  and  the  genius  of 
our  backwoods  Chatham,  our  homespun  Commoner, 
our  incomparable  Harry  of  the  West,  with  his  master 
ful  spirit,  his  undoubting,  indefatigable  patriotism,  his 
great,  good  heart. 

I  never  think  of  Mr.  Clay  that  I  do  not  think  of 
Mr.  Elaine.  It  will  be  a  solace  to  me  in  my  old  age, 
in  case  I  am  vouchsafed  an  old  age,  to  recall  the  cir 
cumstance  that,  enjoying  a  sufficient  intimacy  with  that 
eminent  man  to  know  him  well — to  have  a  direct  per- 

56 


The  Compromises  of  Life 

sonal  knowledge  of  his  affairs — that  no  heat,  or  fric 
tion,  of  party  interest  or  passion,  could  in  high  party 
times  swerve  me  from  doing  justice  to  his  public  and 
private  worth.  Like  Clay  he  was  a  parliamentary 
chieftain  of  talents  unsurpassed ;  like  Clay,  of  resistless 
personal  charm;  like  Clay,  the  victim  of  a  baseless, 
shameful  calumny.  Clay,  Douglas,  Blaine — the  tri 
umvir  of  captivating  party  leaders,  as  Clay,  Webster, 
and  Calhoun  were  the  triumvir  of  resplendent  senators 
and  statesmen — take  off  your  hats  to  them,  young  men, 
and,  imitating  their  devotion  to  their  duty  as  they  saw 
it,  try  to  avoid  the  excess,  the  riot  of  manhood,  which 
sometimes  led  them  astray,  while  you  cultivate  the  self- 
denial  and  self-repression  you  will  find  in  the  lives  of 
Washington,  of  Calhoun,  and  of  Lincoln. 

The  generation  which  fought  to  a  finish  the  irre 
pressible  antagonisms  our  fathers  had  compromised — 
deciding  for  all  time  that  the  Government  is  a  nation, 
and  not  a  huddle  of  petty  sovereignties,  that  the  Con 
stitution  is  the  law,  fixed  and  organic,  and  not  a  rope 
of  sand — is  passing  away.  I  can  scarcely  realize  that  I 
belong  to  that  generation,  that  I,  too,  have  borne  a  part 
in  the  consideration  of  problems,  toward  the  solution 
of  which  the  best  efforts  of  the  best  men  have  been  but 
as  the  blind  leading  the  blind.  What  mistakes  we 
have  made!  What  weaklings  we  have  been!  And 
how  helpless,  except  for  some  saving  grace  in  the  Amer 
ican  character  and  destiny!  Happy  it  is  that  so  many 

57 


The  Compromises  of  Life 

of  us  survive  to  tell  the  tale!  Three  hundred  years 
ago  there  would  have  been  fewer  by  half.  In  the  good 
old  days  of  the  Inquisition  and  the  Star  Chamber  we 
should  have  reached  our  ends,  have  compassed  our  de 
signs,  by  torturing  and  killing  those  who  got  in  our 
way.  Let  us  give  thanks  to  God  that  we  have  fallen 
upon  gentler  times;  that  we  may  do  our  love-making 
and  our  law-making  as  we  do  our  ploughing,  in  a 
straight  furrow;  that  it  is  the  close  of  the  nineteenth, 
not  the  opening  of  the  sixteenth  of  the  centuries.  Even 
the  tax-gatherer  is  to  be  preferred  as  a  steady  visiting  ac 
quaintance,  to  the  headsman,  and  journalism,  with  all 
its  imperfections,  offers  a  fairer  field  for  human  invest 
ment  than  the  battle-axe  of  the  middle  ages. 


THE  SOUTH  IN  LIGHT  AND  SHADE* 

Of  every  people  it  may  be  said,  "by  their  jokes  ye 
shall  know  them."  Men  are  least  restrained  in  their 
mirth,  and  give  therein  the  largest  play  to  their  likes 
and  dislikes.  The  humor  of  Fielding,  Thackeray  tells 
us,  is  wonderfully  wise  and  detective ;  it  flashes  upon  a 
rogue  and  lightens  up  a  rascal  like  a  policeman's  Ian- 
thorn.  The  same  may  be  said  of  the  humor  of  Rabe 
lais,  though  the  objects  of  its  ridicule  are  not  always 
cheats  and  scamps.  The  difference  between  opera 
bouffe  and  Anglo-Saxon  farce  represents  the  difference 
between  the  life  of  the  French  and  the  life  of  the  Eng 
lish.  With  Americans  it  is  not  the  snob  and  the  hus 
band  who  are  satirized ;  our  jocosity  embraces  chiefly 
the  small  boy,  the  widow,  and  the  mother-in-law,  re 
serving  for  its  most  palpable  hits  the  bully,  the  vision 
ary  speculator,  the  gamester,  and  the  commercial  agent. 
Thus  American  humor  may  be  divided  into  two  classes 
— that  which  relates  to  fighting  and  that  which  relates 
to  money.  In  the  South  this  general  classification 
grows  still  narrower,  gaining,  however,  in  whimsicality 
and  local  color  what  it  lacks  in  breadth. 

There  can  be  no  mistaking  the  origin  of  the  story  of 

*i«77. 

59 


The  Compromises  of  Life 

the  traveller  who  asked  a  Mississippian  whether  it 
was  worth  his  while  to  carry  a  pistol,  and  was 
told:  "Well,  stranger,  you  mout  move  around  here 
more'n  a  year  an'  never  need  a  pistol,  but  ef  you  should 
happen  to  need  one,  you'd  need  it  powerful."  Equally 
characteristic  is  the  record  of  a  well-known  Tennessee 
case.  The  principal  witness  for  the  commonwealth 
testified  that  he  was  sent  to  get  a  fresh  pack  of  cards, 
that  he  got  them,  and,  returning,  sat  down  in  the  grass. 
Here  he  balked  in  his  testimony,  and  would  go  no  fur 
ther.  At  last,  after  cross-questioning  and  coaxing  had 
been  exhausted,  the  judge  threatened  him  with  fine 
and  imprisonment,  whereupon  he  said:  "Please,  your 
honor,  if  I  must  tell  why  I  drapped  in  the  jimson 
weeds,  I  suppose  I  must.  It  was  just,  your  honor,  to 
look  over  the  herds,  and  mark  the  bowers."  The  fol 
lowing  no  less  reflects  the  local  color  of  the  ante-bellum 
days:  Two  Kentuckians  went  to  settle  their  bill  at  a 
hotel  in  Boston.  There  being  a  dispute  about  the 
amount,  one  of  them  grew  angry  and  began  to 
swear,  when  the  other  said:  "Remember,  John,  who 
you  are.  Remember  you  are  a  Kentuckian.  Pay  the 
bill  and  shoot  the  scoundrel"  Parson  Bullen,  in  his 
funeral  oration  over  the  dead  body  of  Sut  Lovingood, 
observed : 

"We  air  met,  my  brethering,  to  bury  this  ornery  cuss. 
He  had  bosses,  an'  he  run  'em ;  he  had  chickens,  an'  he 
fit  'em;  he  had  kiards,  an'  he  played  'em.  Let  us  try 

60 


The  South  in  Light  and  Shade 

an'  ricollect  his  virtues — ef  he  had  any — an'  forgit 
his  vices — ef  we  can.  For  of  sick  air  the  kingdom  of 
heaven!" 

Such  incidents  as  these  could  not  happen,  and  there 
fore  could  not  be  humorously  narrated,  in  any  part  of 
the  world  except  the  South. 

In  the  old  steam-boating  times  the  typical  Southerner 
was  pictured  as  a  ranting,  roving  blade,  who  wore  a 
broad-brimmed  Panama  hat  and  a  great  watch-fob,  who 
was  an  expert  in  the  decoction  and  disposition  of 
mixed  drinks,  who  ended  all  his  sentences  with  "By 
Gawd,  sir,"  and  thought  no  more  of  betting  "a  likely 
nigger-boy"  on  a  "bobtail  flush"  than  you  or  I  would 
think  of  betting  a  button  on  the  result  of  a  Presidential 
election.  It  was  he  who  was  to  be  encountered  during 
the  winter  anywhere  and  all  the  way  from  Cairo  to 
New  Orleans ;  during  the  summer  at  any  of  the  water 
ing-places,  from  Saratoga  to  Newport.  He  travelled 
with  a  dusky  valet,  a  silver-headed  cane,  two  ruffled 
shirts,  and  a  case  of  hair-triggers.  His  morning  meal 
was  a  simple  Kentucky  breakfast — "three  cocktails  and 
a  chaw  of  terbacker."  His  amusements  were  equally 
simple  and  few :  he  could  clip  the  wing  of  a  mosquito  at 
ten  or  fifteen  paces ;  could  stop  the  launching  of  a  life 
boat  to  tell  his  terrified  fellow-passengers  the  last  good 
story  from  "Georgy" ;  could  pull  to  a  shoestring,  as  the 
saying  went,  and  draw  a  tanyard !  He  affected  blooded 
stock,  particularly  game-cocks.  To  him  the  pedigree 

61 


The  Compromises  of  Life 

of  a  race-horse,  like  a  question  in  constitutional  lore, 
was  a  sacred  subject,  to  be  tampered  with  under  penalty 
of  death.  He  had  the  faculty  of  losing  his  money,  and 
other  people's  money,  with  charming  indiscrimination, 
if  not  with  delightful  indifference,  at  all  games  of 
chance,  from  chuck-a-luck  to  brag.  That  such  an 
animal  would  fight  was  a  matter  of  course;  he  would 
fight  anything,  preferring,  indeed,  the  "tiger." 

The  invention  of  the  comparatively  modern  pastime 
called  by  the  fastidious  English  "American  whist,"  to 
escape  its  more  vulgar  appellation  of  "draw-poker," 
was  to  him  the  discovery  of  another  world.  He  felt 
as  the  ancient  monarch  would  have  felt  had  the  new 
amusement  for  which  he  offered  a  reward  really  come 
into  being.  It  struck  him,  and  it  stuck  to  him.  Its 
very  nomenclature  tickled  his  fancy,  beginning  with  its 
descriptive  soubriquet  "draw-poker."  He  was  in  the 
habit  of  drawing  on  his  commission  merchant,  on  his 
revolver,  and  on  his  imagination,  and  here  was  a  chance 
to  draw  on  all  three  at  one  and  the  same  time.  He 
was  himself  a  poker — a  poker  of  fun  at  all  men,  a 
poker  of  nonsense  in  the  face  and  under  the  nose  of 
Providence.  Then  the  titles  of  the  hands  were  de 
scriptive.  There  were  "fulls"  and  "flushes,"  and  was 
not  his  own  life  a  perpetual  see-saw  between  the  two? 
— for  when  he  was  not  flush  he  was  sure  to  be  full,  and 
vice  versa. 

In  those  days  there  were  no  bloated  bondholders. 
62 


The  South  in  Light  and  Shade 

We  had  not  even  risen  to  the  dignity  of  the  insurance 
agent.  Capital  was  really  timid,  and,  for  the  most 
part,  was  represented  in  the  South,  as  far  as  the  East 
was  concerned,  by  the  peddler,  the  colporteur,  and  the 
vendor  of  lightning-rods.  These,  who  made  them 
selves  familiar  with  Southern  thoroughfares  only,  were 
impressed  by  the  manners  of  our  swaggering  hero ;  they 
stood  abashed  before  his  bullying;  they  were  amused 
by  his  vulgarity;  being  for  the  most  part  unversed  in 
the  ways  of  the  world,  except  that  of  trade,  they  were 
bound  to  fall  into  mistakes.  Not  unnaturally,  there 
fore,  they  mistook  the  Southern  swashbuckler  for  the 
Southern  gentleman,  and  carried  home  a  daguerreotype 
of  Southern  life  taken  from  their  adventures,  which, 
as  we  may  conjecture,  were  never  of  the  nicest.  The 
South,  on  its  part,  got  its  view  of  the  North  from  the 
wandering  middlemen  who  were  best  known  to  it ;  and 
thus  a  mutual  misconception  sprang  into  existence — 
taking  its  ideas  and  examples,  not  from  the  better  classes 
of  society,  but  from  the  worst.  The  truth  is,  that  behind 
these  the  good  people  of  the  North  and  South  lived, 
moved,  and  had  their  being:  in  the  one  section,  relying 
upon  thrift  and  industry  to  build  up  fortunes;  in  the 
other  section,  victims  to  circumstance  rather  than  de 
sign,  accumulating  debts  as  they  accumulated  slaves. 
I  am  sure  that  I  am  not  mistaken  in  this;  and,  indeed, 
events  are  verifying  it.  After  years  of  contention  and 
war,  the  obstructive  forces  are  passing  away,  and  what 

63 


The  Compromises  of  Life 

do  we  see?  Why,  in  the  South,  looking  northward, 
we  see  a  race,  kindred  to  ourselves,  a  little  less  effusive, 
but  hardly  less  genial,  already  disciplined  and  equipped 
to  struggle  against  the  winds  and  the  waves.  In  the 
North,  looking  southward,  the  philosophic  observer 
sees,  not  a  huddle  of  lazy  barbarians,  composed  in  large 
part  of  murderers  and  gamblers,  but  a  great  body  of 
Christian  men  and  women,  who  have  had  a  hard  strug 
gle  with  fate  and  fortune,  but  who  have  stood  against 
the  elements  with  a  fortitude  that  contradicts  the 
characteristics  formerly  imputed  to  them ;  he  sees  the 
master  of  yesterday  the  toiler  of  to-day ;  he  sees  the  mis 
tress  of  the  mansion,  still  a  gentlewoman  in  the  truest 
sense,  striving  and  saving,  patching,  piecing,  and  pinch 
ing  to  make  both  ends  meet ;  he  sees,  in  short,  a  people, 
born  to  the  luxury  of  a  rich  soil  and  a  warm  climate, 
and  inured  to  nothing  except  the  privations  of  disas 
trous  war  and  unexpected  poverty,  throwing  themselves 
bravely  into  the  exigencies  of  real  life;  nowhere  indo 
lent  and  idle ;  nowhere  demoralized ;  everywhere  cheer 
ful,  active,  and  sober. 

It  is  not  of  these,  however,  that  I  am  going  to  speak 
to-night.  The  homely  story  of  their  ups  and  downs 
will  pass  into  the  humor  of  the  future.  I  wish  to 
introduce  here  a  lower  order — to  talk  of  the  comicali 
ties  and  whimsicalities  of  Southern  life,  embodied  in 
the  exploits  of  the  howling  raccoon  of  the  mountains 
and  the  musings  of  the  epic  hero  who,  describing  him- 

64 


The  South  in  Light  and  Shade 

self,  said:  "I  am  a  fighter  from  Bitter  Creek;  I'm  a 
wolf,  and  this  is  my  night  to  howl.  I've  three  rows  of 
front  teeth,  and  nary  tooth  alike.  The  folks  on  Bitter 
Creek  are  bad;  the  higher  up  you  go,  the  wuss  they 
are;  and  I'm  from  the  head-waters"  This  type  is  the 
offspring  of  a  class,  and,  as  humor  itself  springs  from 
the  nether  side  of  nature,  he  must  needs  play  a  consid 
erable  part  in  the  veracious  chronicle  of  Southern  life. 
Running  over  the  pages  of  Professor  Longstreet's 
amusing  volume  of  "Georgia  Scenes,"  certainly  a  most 
faithful,  as  well  as  a  most  graphic,  series  of  pen-pictures 
of  the  South,  one  is  agreeably  impressed  by  the  absence 
of  venality  and  blood-thirstiness  which  marks  the  vari 
ous  narrations.  The  table  of  contents  embraces  all 
manner  of  inland  adventure,  from  a  gander-pulling  to  a 
shooting-match,  including  such  suggestive  chapters  as 
"The  Horse-swap,"  "The  Debating  Society,"  "The 
Militia  Drill,"  and  "The  Fox  Hunt."  "The  Life  and 
Adventures  of  Bill  Arp"  is  a  continuation  of  the  same 
class  of  incidents,  narrated  by  the  principal  actor,  in 
backwoods  English.  Both  volumes,  however,  are 
bounded  by  purely  local  confines.  The  yarns  spun  by 
Sut  Lovingood,  who  describes  himself  as  "a  nateral 
born  dern'd  fool,"  have  been  more  fortunate;  at  least 
one  of  them  has  travelled  across  the  Atlantic,  where, 
translated  into  French,  it  enlivens  a  scene  in  one  of  the 
ingenious  dramas  of  M.  Victorien  Sardou.  Sut  Lovin 
good  is  described  as  "a  queer,  long-legged,  web-footed, 

65 


The  Compromises  of  Life 

short-bodied,  hog-eyed,  and  white-haired"  creature, 
mounted  on  "a  nick-tailed,  bow-necked,  long,  poor, 
pale,  sorrel  horse" — a  compound  of  ignorance  and  cun 
ning,  half  dandy  and  half  devil,  perpetually  entangled  in 
"a  net-work  of  bridle-reins,  crupper,  martingales, 
straps,  stirrups,  surcingles,  and  red  ferreting."  He 
tells  his  own  story  in  the  wildest  of  East  Tennessee  jar 
gon,  being  a  native  of  that  beatific  region,  and  is,  of 
course,  the  hero  of  his  own  recitals.  These,  be  it  said, 
are  quite  as  often  at  his  expense  as  in  glorification  of 
his  exploits.  There  is  an  extravagant  oddity  in  his  ex 
perience  which  rarely  fails  to  arrest  attention.  On 
one  occasion  he  tells  how,  seeing  for  the  first  time  "a 
biled  shirt,"  he  desires  to  emulate  the  wearer  and  imi 
tate  the  fashion.  He  broods  over  the  mystery  of  biled 
shirts.  He  roams  in  the  mountains  and  dives  into  the 
philosophy  of  biled  shirts.  At  length,  he  discovers  in 
a  female  friend  an  original  genius.  She  has  no  more 
practical  knowledge  of  starch  than  himself;  but  she 
has  heard  that  flour,  boiled  to  a  certain  consistency 
and  smeared  over  a  given  surface  of  textile  fabric,  will 
stiffen  it.  So  she  undertakes  the  job,  makes  the  paste, 
douses  Lovingood's  homespun  into  it,  and,  being  in  a 
hurry,  he  puts  it  on  before  it  is  dry.  He  goes  to  the 
grocery  to  show  himself,  drinks  deeply,  and  falls  asleep ; 
the  shirt  congeals  upon  him,  and  when  he  wakes — in  a 
hay-loft — he  is  a  sight  to  see.  How  to  escape  becomes 
at  once  a  problem.  At  length,  to  make  a  long  story 

66 


The  South  in  Light  and  Shade 

short,  he  loosens  the  edges  of  the  tails  of  the  unman 
ageable  garment,  and  tacks  these  to  the  four  sides  of 
the  hole  in  the  floor  by  which  entrance  is  had  to  the  hay 
loft,  and  plunges  through  to  the  ground  below — with 
what  consequences  one  may  imagine. 

On  another  occasion,  the  Lovingood  family  being 
about  to  starve,  and  there  being  no  horse  to  plough  with, 
Sut's  father  agrees  to  be  horse  and  pull  the  plough,  en 
acting  the  part  perfectly  until  he  gets  into  a  nest  of  yel 
low-jackets,  when — considering  it  his  duty  to  act  as  a 
horse  would  act — he  runs  away,  destroying  plough, 
gear,  and  all,  much  to  the  consternation  of  his  son,  who 
plays  the  part  of  ploughman.  Again,  being  greatly  en 
raged  with  a  local  preacher,  Sut  resolves  upon  revenge, 
and  goes  to  camp-meeting  to  accomplish  his  purpose. 
The  culmination  of  this  exploit  he  tells  thus : 

"I  tuck  a  seat  on  the  steps  of  the  pulpit  an'  kivered 
as  much  of  my  face  with  my  han's  es  I  could,  to  show 
I  was  in  yearnest.  Hit  tuck  powerful,  for  I  hearn  a 
sort  o'  thankful  kin'  of  buzz  all  over  the  congregashun. 
Thur  were  a  monstrous  crowd  in  that  grove,  for  the 
weather  was  fine  and  beleevers  was  plenty.  The  par 
son  give  out  an'  they  sung  that  good  ole  hym : 

"  *  Thur  will  be  mournin*,  mournin',  mournin'  here, 
And  mournin',  mournin',  mournin'  there, 
On  that  dread  day  to  come.' 

"Thinks  I,  kin  it  be  possible  anybody  has  tole  the  ole 
varmint  what's  goin'  to  happen  to  him?  An'  then  I 
'low'd  nobody  know'd  it  but  me,  an'  I  was  comforted. 
He  nex'  tuck  his  tex',  which  was  powerfully  mixed  with 

67 


The  Compromises  of  Life 

brimstone  an'  trim'd  with  blue  an'  red  flames.  Then 
he  opened.  He  commenced  onto  the  sinners.  He 
threatened  'em  orful,  tried  to  skeer  'em  with  the  wust 
varmints  he  could  think  of,  an'  arter  a  while,  he  got 
onto  the  subject  of  hell-sarpints,  an'  he  dwelt  on  it. 
He  tole  'em  how  the  ole  hell-sarpints  'd  sarve  'em  ef 
they  didn't  repent ;  how  both  hot  an'  cold  they'd  crawl 
over  their  naked  bodies;  how  they'd  'rap  their  tails 
roun'  their  necks,  poke  their  tongues  down  their  throats, 
an'  hiss  in  their  ears.  I  seed  thet  my  time  had  come. 
I  had  cotched  seven  or  eight  pot-bellied  lizzards,  an* 
had  'em  in  a  narrer  bag  thet  I  had  made  a  purpose. 
So,  when  he  war  a  rarin'  an'  a  tearin'  an'  a  ravin'  onto 
his  tip-toes,  an'  a-poundin'  ov  the  pulpit,  onbeknowns 
to  anybody  I  ontied  my  bag  ov  reptiles,  put  the  mouf  ov 
hit  onto  the  bottom  ov  his  briches-leg,  an'  begun  a 
pinchin'  ov  their  tails.  Quick  as  gunpowder  they  all 
took  up  his  leg,  makin'  a  noise  like  squirrels  climbin'  a 
shell-bark  hickory,  or  a  sycamin'.  He  stopt  rite  in  the 
middle  of  the  word  'damnation.'  He  looked  for  an 
instant  like  he  were  listenin'  for  somethin'.  His  ter 
rific  features  stopped  the  shoutin'.  You  could  'a'  hearn 
a  cricket  jump.  Jess  about  this  time  one  ov  my  liz 
zards  pops  his  head  out'n  the  parson's  shirt-collar,  wag- 
gin'  his  ole  brown  neck  an'  surveyin'  of  the  congrega- 
shun.  The  parson  seed  it,  an'  it  war  too  much  for 
him.  He  got  his  tongue,  the  old  varmint,  an'  he  cries : 
Tray  for  me,  brethren!  pray  for  me,  sisteren!  I  is 
'rastlin'  with  the  arch  enemy,  rite  now !  Pray  for  me 
an'  save  yerselves!  For  the  hell-sarpints  hav'  got 
me!'" 


I  have  abridged  the  details,  which,  though  very 
comic,  are,  it  must  be  owned,  very  coarse.  The  book 
abounds  with  similar  burlesque.  It  is  not  real  life, 

68 


The  South  in  Light  and  Shade 

indeed,  but  an  attempt,  in  a  rough  way,  to  travesty  the 
shams  of  the  crude  life  sought  to  be  portrayed  and 
satirized.  The  orthography  is  really  original,  if  noth 
ing  else,  not  at  all  imitative  either  of  Yellowplush  or 
Artemus.  The  author  of  the  book  lived  and  died 
among  the  scenes  he  describes — a  quiet,  sombre  East- 
Tennessean,  George  Harris  by  name.  His  contribu 
tions  were  made  in  the  first  place  to  a  journal  in  Nash 
ville,  and  collected  thence  into  a  volume.  The  value 
of  this  may  not  be  great,  but  its  quaintness  is  unde 
niable. 

About  thirty  years  ago  there  appeared  in  the  New 
Orleans  Picayune  a  sermon  which  attracted  imme 
diate  attention  and  attained  wide  currency.  It  was  at 
once  recognized  as  a  genuine  transcription.  It  pur 
ported  to  have  been  delivered  by  a  volunteer  preacher, 
who,  making  his  livelihood  as  captain  of  a  flat-boat, 
happened  to  "lay  up"  over  Sunday  by  a  Mississippi 
landing.  An  idle  crowd  being  collected,  he  organized 
an  impromptu  congregation,  and  produced  a  discourse 
which  has  obtained  a  standard  place  in  our  comic  litera 
ture.  He  began: 

"I  may  say  to  you,  my  brethering,  that  I  am  not  an 
edicated  man,  an'  I  am  not  one  o'  them  as  believes  an 
edication  is  necessary  in  a  minister  of  the  Gospel;  for 
I  believe  the  Lord  edicates  his  preachers  jest  as  he  wants 
'em  to  be  edicated ;  and  although  I  says  it  as  ought  not 
to  say  it,  in  the  State  of  Alabamy,  where  I  live,  there's 
no  man  what  gits  bigger  congregashuns  nor  what  I  gits. 

69 


The  Compromises  of  Life 

"There  may  be  some  here  to-day,  my  brethering,  as 
don't  know  what  persuasion  I  am  uv.  Well,  I  must 
say  to  you  that  I  am  a  Hard-shell  Baptist.  Thar  is 
some  folks  as  don't  like  the  Hard-shell  Baptists,  but, 
as  fur  as  I  sees,  it's  better  to  have  a  hard  shell  than  no 
shell  at  all.  You  see  me  here  to-day,  my  brethering, 
dressed  up  in  fine  clothes ;  you  mout  think  I  was  proud. 
But  I  am  not  proud,  my  brethering.  For,  although  I've 
been  a  preacher  of  the  gospel  for  nighly  twenty  year, 
an'  am  capting  of  that  flat-boat  at  your  landing,  I  am 
not  proud,  my  brethering. 

"I  am  not  a-gwine  to  tell  you  adzactly  whar  my  tex 
is  to  be  found;  suffice  it  to  say  it's  in  the  leds  of  the 
Bible,  and  you'll  find  it  somewhere  between  the  first 
chapter  of  the  book  of  Generations  and  the  last  chapter 
of  the  book  of  Revolution ;  and  ef  you'll  go  an'  sarch 
the  scripters,  you'll  not  only  find  my  tex  thar,  but  a  good 
many  other  texes  as  will  do  you  good  to  read,  and  when 
you  shall  find  my  tex  you  shall  find  it  to  read 
thus: 

"  'An'  he  played  upon  a  harp  of  a  thousand  strings — 
sperrits  of  just  men  made  perfick.' 

"My  tex,  my  brethering,  leads  me,  in  the  fust  place, 
to  speak  of  sperrits.  Thar  is  a  great  many  kinds  of 
sperrits  in  the  world.  In  the  fust  place,  thar's  sperrits 
as  some  folks  calls  ghosts  and  thar's  sperrits  of  turpen 
tine,  and  thar's  sperrits  as  some  folks  calls  liquor,  an' 
I've  got  as  good  a  article  of  them  kind  o'  sperrits  on  my 
flat-boat  as  was  ever  fetched  down  the  Mississippi 
River ;  but  thar's  a  good  many  other  kin'  o'  sperrits,  for 
the  tex  says  'he  played  upon  a  harp  of  a  thousand  strings 
— sperrits  of  just  men  made  perfick.' 

"But,  I'll  tell  you  what  kind  of  sperrits  as  are  meant 
in  the  tex,  my  brethering.  It's  FIRE.  That's  the  kind 
of  sperrits  as  is  meant  in  the  tex,  my  brethering.  Now, 
of  course,  ther  is  a  great  many  kinds  of  fire  in  the 

70 


The  South  in   Light  and  Shade 

world.  In  the  fust  place,  there's  the  common  sort  of 
fire  you  light  your  pipe  with,  and  there's  fox-fire  and 
camphire,  fire  afore  you're  ready  and  fire-an'-fall-back, 
and  many  other  kinds  of  fire ;  for  the  tex  says  'he  played 
upon  a  harp  of  a  thousand  strings — sperrits  of  just  men 
made  perfick.' 

"But  I'll  tell  you  the  kind  of  fire  as  is  meant  in  the 
tex,  my  brethering.  It  is  Hell-fire!  An'  that's  the 
kind  of  fire  a  good  many  of  you  are  coming  to  ef  you 
don't  do  better  nor  what  you  have  been  doin',  for  'he 
played  upon  a  harp  of  a  thousand  strings — sperrits  of 
just  men  made  perfick.' 

"Now,  the  different  sorts  o'  fire  in  the  world  may  be 
likened  to  the  different  persuasions  of  Christians  in  the 
world.  In  the  fust  place,  we  have  the  Tiscopalians. 
And  they  are  a  high-sailin'  an'  a  hifalutin'  set,  and  may 
be  likened  onto  a  turkey-buzzard  a-flying  up  in  the  air, 
an'  he  goes  up,  an'  up,  an'  up,  ontil  he  looks  no  bigger'n 
your  finger-nail,  an'  the  fust  thing  you  know  he  comes 
down  and  down,  and  is  a-fillin'  hisself  on  the  carcass 
of  a  dead  hoss  by  the  side  of  the  road,  for  the  tex  says 
'he  played  upon  a  harp  of  a  thousand  strings — sperrits 
of  just  men  made  perfick.' 

"Then  thar  is  the  Methodists,  and  they  may  be  lik 
ened  unto  a  squirrel  a-climbin'  up  into  a  tree,  for  the 
Methodists  believes  in  gwine  on  from  grace  to  grace  till 
they  gits  to  perfection;  an'  so  the  squirrel  goes  up  an' 
up,  an'  jumps  from  limb  to  limb  and  from  branch  to 
branch,  and  the  fust  thing  you  know  he  falls,  an'  down 
he  comes,  kerflumix,  for  they  is  always  fallin'  from 
grace;  for  the  tex  says  'he  played  upon  a  harp  of 
a  thousand  strings — sperrits  of  just  men  made  per 
fick.' 

"An'  then,  my  brethering,  thar's  the  Baptists,  ah. 
An'  they  have  been  likened  to  a  'possum  on  a  'simmon- 
tree ;  and  thunders  may  roll  and  the  yearth  may  quake ; 

71 


The  Compromises  of  Life 

but  that  'possum  clings  thar  still,  ah;  and  you  may 
shake  one  foot  loose,  an'  the  other's  thar,  ah!  and  you 
may  shake  all  feet  loose,  an'  he  wraps  his  tail  around 
the  limb,  an'  clings,  an'  clings  forever,  for  'he  played 
upon  a  harp  of  a  thousand  strings — sperrits  of  just  men 
made  perfick.'  " 


Irreligious  as  this  may  seem,  grotesque  and  prepos 
terous,  it  is  not  overstated.  In  the  old  time,  and  on 
the  borders  of  civilization,  such  sermons  were  by  no 
means  uncommon.  They  are  still  to  be  heard  in  the 
"back  settlements,"  as  they  are  called ;  and,  while  those 
who  make  them  pass  for  what  they  are  worth  as  preach 
ers,  their  sincerity  goes  unchallenged. 

It  was  doubtless  the  publication  of  Professor  Long- 
street's  "Georgia  Scenes,"  in  1840,  which  suggested  a 
continuous  story  upon  the  same  stage  of  action,  and  in 
1842  "Major  Jones's  Courtship"  appeared.  The 
author  of  this  homely,  natural,  and  amusing  fiction, 
Mr.  W.  T.  Thompson,  an  editor  in  Savannah,  is  still 
alive.  In  1848  he  followed  his  first  production  with 
"Major  Jones's  Sketches  of  Travel,"  which  possess  a 
value  as  contemporaneous  pictures  beyond  and  above 
their  humor,  abundant  as  that  is.  The  "Courtship," 
however,  is  a  novel,  originally  meant  as  a  travesty,  to 
which  time  has  lent  a  sort  of  pathos.  It  is  a  graphic 
portraiture  of  the  interior  life  of  the  South.  Rough 
and  ready  as  the  farce  is,  it  is  never  vulgar.  Its  char 
acters  are  few,  simple,  and  virtuous.  It  deals  with 

72 


The  South  in  Light  and  Shade 

clean  homespun.  It  carries  the  mind  back  to  the  old 
brick  church,  the  innocent  picnic,  the  rural  Fourth  of 
July  celebration,  the  Christmas  frolic. 

Joseph  Jones,  only  son  of  the  Widow  Jones,  liv 
ing  near  the  village  of  Pineville,  in  Georgia,  is 
a  well-to-do  young  farmer.  He  is  in  love  with 
Mary  Stallins,  daughter  of  the  Widow  Stallins,  a 
near  neighbor.  Joseph  has  grown  up  on  the  planta 
tion,  an  honest,  affectionate,  moral  young  man;  Mary 
has  gone  off  to  boarding-school,  and  comes  home  a 
belle.  The  adventures  are  bounded  on  the  one  side  by 
the  barnyard,  on  the  other  side  by  the  hearthstone. 
Over  all  a  pair  of  rugged  roof-trees  cast  their  kindly 
shade.  The  story  runs  along  like  a  brook,  without 
effort  or  concealment.  There  is  no  villain  in  the  piece 
— only  a  would-be  wit,  called  Cousin  Pete,  who  is  in 
troduced  as  a  tease.  The  tribulations  of  the  lovers  are 
very  slight;  but  there  is  throughout  the  narrative  a 
naturalness  which,  being  nowhere  strained  for  its  fun, 
is  really  captivating.  As  an  example,  I  cannot  forbear 
quoting  the  culmination  of  the  courtship.  You  will 
understand  that  our  hero  has  had  many  struggles  and 
trials  bringing  himself  to  the  point  of  popping  the 
question ;  that,  although  he  is  almost  sure  of  his  sweet 
heart,  he  cannot  muster  courage  enough  to  make  a 
direct  proposal ;  that  everybody  is  in  the  secret  and  ap 
proves  the  match.  How  the  deed  was  finally  done  he 
shall  tell  himself: 

73 


The   Compromises  of  Life 

"Crismus  eve  I  put  on  my  new  suit,  and  shaved  my 
face  as  slick  as  a  smoothin'  iron,  and  after  tea  went  over 
to  old  Miss  Stallinses.  As  soon  as  I  went  into  the 
parler,  whar  they  was  all  settin'  round  the  fire,  Miss 
Carline  and  Miss  Kesiah  both  laughed  rite  out. 

"  'There!  there!'  ses  they,  'I  told  you  so!  I  know'd 
it  would  be  Joseph.' 

'  'What's  I  done,  Miss  Carline  ?'  ses  I. 
'  'You  come  under  little  sister's  chicken  bone,  and 
I  do  believe  she  know'd  you  was  comin'  when  she  put 
it  over  the  dore.' 

"  'No,  I  didn't — I  didn't  no  such  thing,  now,'  ses 
Miss  Mary,  and  her  face  blushed  red  all  over. 

"  'Oh,  you  needn't  deny  it,'  ses  Miss  Kesiah,  'you 
belong  to  Joseph  now,  jest  as  sure  as  ther's  any  charm 
in  chicken  bones.' 

"I  know'd  that  was  a  first  rate  chance  to  say  some 
thing,  but  the  dear  little  creeter  looked  so  sorry  and 
kep'  blushin'  so,  I  couldn't  say  nothin'  zackly  to  the 
pint ;  so  I  tuck  a  chair  and  reched  up  and  tuck  down  the 
bone  and  put  it  in  my  pocket. 

"  'What  are  you  gwine  to  do  with  that  old  chicken 
bone  now,  Majer?'  ses  Miss  Mary. 

"  'I'm  gwine  to  keep  it  as  long  as  I  live,'  says  I,  'as  a 
Crismus  present  from  the  handsomest  gall  in  Georgia.' 

"When  I  sed  that,  she  blushed  worse  and  worse. 

"  'Ain't  you  'shamed,  Majer?'  ses  she. 

"  'Now  you  ought  to  give  her  a  Crismus  gift,  Joseph, 
to  keep  all  her  life,'  sed  Miss  Carline. 

"  'Ah,'  ses  old  Miss  Stallins,  'when  I  was  a  gall  we 
used  to  hang  up  our  stockin's ' 

"  'Why,  mother!'  ses  all  of  'em,  'to  say  stockin's  right 
before ' 

"Then  I  felt  a  little  streaked  too,  'cause  they  was  all 
blushin'  as  hard  as  they  could. 

"  'Highty-tity,'   ses  the  old  lady ;  'what  monstrous 

74 


The  South  in  Light  and  Shade 

'finement  to  be  shore !  I'd  like  to  know  what  harm  there 
is  in  stockin's.  People  nowadays  is  gittin'  so  mealy- 
mouthed  they  can't  call  nothin'  by  its  rite  name,  and  I 
don't  see  as  they's  any  better  than  the  old  time  people 
was.  When  I  was  a  gall  like  you,  child,  I  use  to  hang 
up  my  stockin's  and  git  'em  full  of  presents.' 

"The  galls  kep'  laughin'  and  blushin'. 
'  'Never  mind,'  ses  Miss  Mary,  'Majer's  got  to  give 
me  a  Crismus  gift — won't  you,  Majer?' 

"  'Oh,  yes,'  ses  I,  'you  know  I  promised  you  one.' 
'  'But  I  didn't  mean  that,'  ses  she. 
'  'I've  got  one  for  you,  what  I  want  you  to  keep  all 
your  life;  but  it  would  take  a  two-bushel  bag  to  hold 
it,'  ses  I. 

"  'Oh,  that's  the  kind,'  ses  she. 
'  'But  will  you  promise  to  keep  it  as  long  as  you 
live?'  ses  I. 

"  'Certainly,  I  will,  Majer.' 

"  'Monstrous  'finement  nowadays — old  people  don't 
know  nothin'  about  perliteness,"  said  old  Miss  Stallins, 
jest  gwine  to  sleep  with  her  'nittin'  in  her  lap. 

"  'Now,  you  hear  that,  Miss  Carline,'  ses  I.  'She 
ses  she'll  keep  it  all  her  life.' 

"  'Yes,  I  will,'  ses  Miss  Mary — 'but  what  is  it?' 

"  'Never  mind,'  ses  I ;  'you  hang  up  a  bag  big  enough 
to  hold  it,  and  you'll  find  out  what  it  is,  when  you  see 
it  in  the  mornin'.' 

"Miss  Carline  winked  at  Miss  Kesiah,  and  then 
whispered  to  her — then  they  both  laughed  and  looked 
at  me  as  mischievous  as  they  could.  They  'spicioned 
something. 

'  'You'll  be  shore  to  give  it  to  me,  now,  if  I  hang  up 
a  bag?'  ses  Miss  Mary. 

"  'And  promise  to  keep  it  ?'  ses  I. 

"  'Well,  I  will,  cause  I  know  that  you  wouldn't  give 
me  nothin'  that  wasn't  worth  keepin'.' 

75 


The  Compromises  of  Life 

"They  all  agreed  they  would  hang  up  a  bag  for  me 
to  put  Miss  Mary's  Crismus  present  in,  on  the  back 
porch,  and  about  ten  o'clock  I  told  'em  good  evenin' 
and  went  home. 

"I  sot  up  till  midnight,  and  when  they  was  all  gone 
to  bed,  I  went  softly  into  the  back  gate,  and  went  up  to 
the  porch,  and  thar,  shore  enough,  was  a  great  big 
meal-bag  hangin'  to  the  jice.  It  was  monstrous  un 
handy  to  get  to  it,  but  I  was  'termined  not  to  back  out. 
So  I  sot  some  chairs  on  top  of  a  bench,  and  got  hold  of 
the  rope  and  let  myself  down  into  the  bag;  but,  just  as 
I  was  gettin'  in,  it  swung  agin  the  chairs,  and  down  they 
went  with  a  terrible  racket;  but  nobody  didn't  wake 
up  but  Miss  Stallins's  old  cur  dog,  and  here  he  come 
rippin'  and  tearin'  through  the  yard  like  rath,  and  round 
and  round  he  went  tryin'  to  find  what  was  the  matter. 
I  scrooch'd  down  in  the  bag,  and  didn't  breathe  louder 
nor  a  kitten,  for  fear  he'd  find  me  out,  and  after  a  while 
he  quit  barkin'.  The  wind  begun  to  blow  'bominable 
cold,  and  the  old  bag  kep'  turnin'  round  and  swingin' 
so  it  made  me  sea-sick  as  the  mischief.  I  was  afraid 
to  move  for  fear  the  rope  would  break  and  let  me  fall, 
and  thar  I  sot  with  my  teeth  rattlin'  like  I  had  a  ager. 
It  seemed  like  it  would  never  come  daylight,  and  I  do 
believe  if  I  didn't  love  Miss  Mary  so  powerful  I  would 
froze  to  death ;  for  my  hart  was  the  only  spot  that  felt 
warm,  and  it  didn't  beat  more'n  two  licks  a  minit; 
only  when  I  thought  how  she  would  be  supprised  in 
the  mornin',  and  then  it  went  into  a  canter.  Bimeby 
the  cussed  old  dog  come  up  on  the  porch,  and  began  to 
smell  about  the  bag,  and  then  he  barked  like  he  thought 
he'd  treed  something.  'Bow!  wow!  wow!'  ses  he. 
Then  he'd  smell  agin,  and  try  to  get  up  to  the  bag. 
'Git  out !'  ses  I,  very  low,  for  fear  the  galls  mout  hear 
me.  'Bow!  wow!'  ses  he.  'Begone!  you  'bominable 
fool,'  ses  I,  and  I  felt  all  over  in  spots,  for  I  'spected 

76 


The  South  in  Light  and  Shade 

every  minit  he'd  nip  me,  and  what  made  it  worse,  I 
didn't  know  wharabouts  he'd  take  hold.  'Bow!  wow! 
wow!'  Then  I  tried  coaxin' — 'Come  here,  good  fel 
low,'  ses  I,  and  whistled  a  little  to  him,  but  it  wasn't 
no  use.  Thar  he  stood  and  kep'  up  his  everlasting 
whinin'  and  barkin'  all  night.  I  couldn't  tell  when 
daylight  was  breakin'  only  by  the  chickens  crowin',  and 
I  was  monstrous  glad  to  hear  'em,  fir  if  I'd  had  to  stay 
thar  one  hour  more,  I  don't  beleeve  I'd  ever  got  out  of 
that  bag  alive. 

"Old  Miss  Stallins  come  out  first,  and  as  soon  as  she 
seed  the  bag,  ses  she: 

'  'What  upon  yearth  has  Joseph  went  and  put  in 
that  bag  for  Mary?  I'll  lay  it's  a  yearlin'  or  some  live 
animal,  or  Bruin  wouldn't  bark  at  it  so.' 

"She  went  in  to  call  the  galls,  and  I  sot  thar,  shiv- 
erin'  all  over  so  I  couldn't  hardly  speak  if  I  tried  to — 
but  1  didn't  say  nothin'.  Bimeby  they  all  come  runnin' 
out  on  the  porch. 

;<  'My  goodness!  what  is  it?'  ses  Miss  Mary. 

"  'Oh,  it's  alive,'  ses  Miss  Kesiah ;  'I  seed  it  move.' 

"  'Call  Cato,  an'  make  him  cut  the  rope,'  ses  Miss 
Carline,  'and  let's  see  what  it  is.  Come  here,  Cato, 
and  get  this  bag  down.' 

'  'Don't  hurt  it  for  the  world,'  ses  Miss  Mary. 

"Cato  untied  the  rope  that  was  round  the  jice 
and  let  the  bag  down  easy  on  the  floor,  and  I  tumbled 
out,  all  covered  with  corn-meal  from  head  to  foot. 

"  'Goodness  gracious!'  ses  Miss  Mary,  'if  it  ain't  the 
Majer  himself.' 

"  'Yes,'  ses  I,  'and  you  know  you  promised  to  keep 
my  Crismus  present  as  long  as  you  lived.' 

"The  galls  laughed  themselves  almost  to  deth,  and 
went  to  brushin'  off  the  meal  as  fast  as  they  could, 
sayin'  they  was  gwine  to  hang  that  bag  up  every  Cris 
mus  till  they  got  husbands,  too." 

77 


The  Compromises  of  Life 

Of  course,  Major  Jones  marries  his  sweetheart,  and, 
as  we  learn  from  his  book  of  travels,  published  many 
years  afterward,  the  union  was  in  every  respect  a  happy 
one. 

I  have  hurried  over  these  illustrations  of  Southern 
life,  in  order  that  I  may  reach,  and  give  myself  a  little 
time  to  dwell  upon,  my  old  friend,  Captain  Simon 
Suggs,  of  the  Tallapoosa  Volunteers.  He  is  to  the 
humor  of  the  South  what  Sam  Weller  is  to  the  humor 
of  England,  and  Sancho  Panza  to  the  humor  of  Spain. 
Of  course,  he  is  a  sharper  and  a  philosopher.  But  he 
stands  out  of  the  canvas  whereon  an  obscure  local 
Rubens  has  depicted  him  as  lifelike  and  vivid  as  Gil 
Bias  of  Santillane.  His  adventures  as  a  patriot  and  a 
gambler,  a  moralizer  and  cheat,  could  not  have  pro 
gressed  in  New  England,  and  would  have  come  to  a 
premature  end  anywhere  on  the  continent  of  Europe. 
Although  a  military  man  of  great  pretension,  Captain 
Suggs  never  threw  out  a  skirmish-line  or  dug  a  rifle- 
pit.  He  scorned  to  intrench  himself.  He  played  his 
hand,  at  no  time  of  the  best,  "pat,"  as  it  were.  He 
"spread  it,"  as  certain  players  do  in  the  game  called 
"Boaston,"  and,  indeed,  to  speak  truth,  it  was  generally 
"a  spread  misery,"  for  the  career  of  this  man,  from  the 
cradle  to  the  grave,  was  one  long,  ambitious  effort  to 
acquire  fortune  by  making  the  pleasures  and  recreations 
of  life  tributary  to  its  material  development,  and  so, 
abjuring  scriptural  injunctions  touching  the  sweat  of 

78 


The  South  in   Light  and  Shade 

the  brow,  to  compel  fortune  to  "call"  him,  when  he 
had  provided  himself  a  certainty.  If  this  did  not  suc 
ceed,  he  at  least  made  a  struggle  whose  failure  deserves, 
as  it  has  received,  historic  record.  No  one  can  read  the 
story  of  his  life  without  rising  from  its  perusal  invigor 
ated  and  refreshed. 

Simon  Suggs  was  the  son  of  a  Hard-shell  Baptist 
preacher,  Jeddiah  Suggs  by  name.  Tradition  tells,  ac 
cording  to  the  chronicle,  "how  Simon  played  the 
'snatch'  game  on  Bill"  (a  sable  companion  in  the  corn 
field),  "and  found  an  exceeding  soft  thing  in  his  aged 
parent."  I  must  quote  a  bit  of  this* : 

"The  vicious  habits  of  Simon  were,  of  course,  a  sore 
trouble  to  his  father,  Elder  Jeddiah.  He  reasoned, 
he  remonstrated,  and  he  lashed  [but  all  in  vain].  One 
day  the  simple-minded  old  man  returned  rather  unex 
pectedly  to  the  field  where  he  had  left  Simon  and  a 
black  boy  called  Bill  at  work.  The  two  were  playing 
seven-up  in  a  fence-corner;  but,  of  course,  the  game 
was  suspended  as  soon  as  they  saw  the  old  man's  ap 
proach.  Simon  snatched  up  the  money,  answering  Bill's 
demurrer  with,  'Don't  you  see  daddy's  down  upon  us 
with  a  armful  of  hick'ries?  Anyhow,  I  was  bound  to 
win  the  game,  for  I  hilt  nothin'  but  trumps.'  Another 
thought  struck  him.  It  might  be  that  his  father  did  not 
know  they  had  been  playing  cards.  He  resolved  to 
pretend  that  they  had  been  playing  mumble-the-peg. 
The  old  man  came  up. 

"  'So,  ho,  youngsters;  you  in  the  fence-corner  an'  the 

*  In  this  and  the  following  quotations  the  text  of  the  authorized  edition 
is  not  followed  exactly,  but  is  judiciously  condensed. 

79 


The  Compromises  of  Life 

crop  in  the  grass.     Simon,  what  in  the  round  yearth 
have  you  an'  that  nigger  been  a-doin'  ?' 

"Simon  said,  with  the  coolness  of  a  veteran,  that 
they  had  been  playing  mumble-the-peg,  which  he  pro 
ceeded  to  explain. 

"  'So,  you  git  down  on  your  knees,'  says  old  Jeddiah, 
'to  pull  up  that  nasty  little  stick  with  your  mouth? 
Let's  see  one  of  you  try  it  now.' 

"Bill,  being  the  least  witted,  did  so,  and  just  as  he 
was  strained  to  his  fullest  tension,  down  came  one  of 
the  preacher's  switches.  With  a  loud  yell,  Bill  plunged 
forward,  upsetting  Simon,  and  both  rolled  over  in  the 
grass.  A  card  lay  upon  the  spot  where  Simon  had  sat. 

'  'What's  this,  Simon  ?'  said  his  father. 

'  'The  jack  o'  dimonts,'  said  Simon,  coolly,  seeing 
that  all  was  lost. 

'  'What  was  it  doing  down  thar,  Simon  ?' 

"  'I  had  it  under  my  leg  to  make  it  on  Bill  the  fust 
time  it  come  trumps.' 

'  'What's  trumps,  Simon?'    This  with  irony. 

;<  'Nothin's  trumps,'  says  Simon,  doggedly,  'sense  you 
come  an'  busted  up  the  game.' 

'  'To  the  mulberry,  both  on  ye,  in  a  hurry;  I'm 
a-gwine  to  correck  ye,'  said  old  Jeddiah.  After  Bill 
had  received  his  quantum  in  Simon's  presence,  the 
father  turned  to  his  son  and  said:  'Cross  them  hands, 
Simon.' 

'  'Daddy,'  says  Simon,  '  'tain't  no  use.' 

"Why  not,  Simon?' 

"  'Jess  bekase  it  ain't.     I'm  a-gwine  to  play  cards  as 
long  as  I  live.    I'm  a-gwine  to  make  my  livin'  by  'em. 
So  what's  the  use  o'  lickin'  me  about  it  ?' 
"Old  Mr.  Suggs  groaned. 

"  'Simon,'  says  he,  'you  are  a  poor,  ignor'nt  creeter. 
You've  never  been  nowhar.  Ef  I  was  to  turn  you  off, 
you'd  starve.' 

80 


The  South  in  Light  and  Shade 

'*  'I  wish  you'd  try  me,'  says  Simon,  'and  jess  see.' 

"'Simon!  Simon!  You  pore  onlettered  fool!  Don't 
you  know  that  all  card-players  and  chicken-fighters  an' 
horse- racers  goes  to  hell?' 

'  'I  kin  win  more  money  in  a  week,'  says  Simon, 
'than  you  kin  make  in  a  year.' 

'  'Why,  you  idiot,  don't  you  know  that  them  as  plays 
cards  allers  loses  their  money?' 

'  'Who  wins  it,  then,  daddy?'  says  Simon. 

"This  was  a  poser,  and  in  the  conversation  which 
ensued  Simon  added  to  his  advantage.  At  last,  to  sat 
isfy  his  father  that  he  really  had  a  genius  for  his  chosen 
profession,  he  offered  to  bet  him  what  silver  he  had 
against  the  old  blind  mare  and  immunity  from  the  im 
pending  chastisement,  that  he  could  turn  up  a  jack  from 
any  part  of  the  pack. 

"  'Me  to  mix  'em?'  said  old  Jeddiah. 
"Yes.' 

"  'It  can't  be  done,  Simon!  No  man  in  Augusty,  no 
man  on  the  face  of  the  yearth,  can  do  it.' 

'  'I  kin  do  it,'  says  Simon. 

"  'An'  only  see  the  back  of  the  top  card  ?' 

"  'Yes,  sir.' 

"  'An'  all  of  'em  jest  alike?' 

"  'More  alike'n  cow-peas.' 

'  'It's  ag'in'  natur',  Simon — but  giv'm  to  me.' 

"The  old  man  turned  his  back  to  Simon,  sat  down  on 
the  ground  and  deliberately  abstracted  the  jacks  from 
the  pack,  slipping  them  into  his  sleeve.  'As  I  am  bettin' 
on  a  certainty,'  he  muttered,  'it  stands  to  reason  thar's 
no  harm  in  it;  I'll  get  all  the  money  the  boy  has,  and 
the  lickin'  will  do  him  jest  that  much  more  good.'  At 
length  he  was  ready.  So  was  Simon,  who,  all  the  while, 
had  been  surveying  his  father's  operations  over  his 
shoulder. 

"  'Now,  daddy,'  says  Simon,  'nary  one  of  us  ain't  got 

81 


The   Compromises  of  Life 

to  look  at  the  cards  whiles  I  am  a-cuttin'  'em ;  it  spiles 
the  conjuration.' 

'  'Very  well,  Simon,'  said  Jeddiah,  with  confidence. 

"  'And  another  thing:  you  must  look  me  right  hard 
in  the  eye.' 

'  'To  be  sure — to  be  sure.    Fire  away.' 

"Simon  walked  up  to  his  father.  The  two  gazed 
upon  each  other.  'Wake,  snakes !  day's  a-breakin','  says 
Simon,  with  a  peculiar  turn  of  his  wrist.  'Rise,  jack.' 
He  lifted  half  a  dozen  cards  gently  from  the  top  of  the 
pack  and  presented  the  bottom  one  to  his  father. 

"It  was  the  jack  of  hearts. 

"Old  Jeddiah  staggered  back.  'Merciful  master!' 
says  he,  'ef  the  boy  hain't !  Go,  my  sou,  go.  A  father's 
blessin'  with  ye!' 

"  'And  yit,'  murmured  Simon,  as  he  moved  away, 
'they  say  kerds  is  a  waste  of  time.'  " 

With  such  a  start  in  life,  it  could  hardly  be  expected 
that  the  career  of  the  youthful  Simon  Suggs,  whatever 
its  triumphs,  would  add  to  the  world's  stock  of  harm 
less  pleasure.  He  had  at  a  very  tender  age  evolved 
out  of  his  consciousness  the  theory  that  mother-wit  can 
beat  book-learning  at  any  game.  "Human  natur'  an' 
the  human  family  is  my  books,"  said  Simon,  "and  I've 
seen  few  but  what  I  could  hold  my  own  with.  Just 
give  me  one  o'  these  book-read  fellers,  a  bottle  o'  liquor, 
an'  a  handful  of  the  dockymints,  and  I'm  mighty  apt  to 
git  all  he's  got  an'  all  he  knows,  an'  teach  him  in  a 
gineral  way  a  wrinkle  or  two  into  the  bargain.  Books 
ain't  fit'n  for  nothing  but  to  give  little  children  goin'  to 
school,  to  keep  'em  out'n  mischief.  If  a  man's  got 

82 


The  South  in  Light  and  Shade 

mother-wit,  he  don't  need  'em ;  ef  he  ain't  got  it,  they'll 
do  him  no  good,  no  how."  This  was  Simon's  philoso 
phy.  His  faith  consisted  in  an  ineradicable  belief  that 
he  could  whip  the  tiger  in  a  fair  fight.  Many  defeats 
had  in  nowise  discouraged  him;  he  had  an  explanation 
for  each,  which  at  least  satisfied  his  own  mind.  He 
had  girded  up  his  loins,  he  had  studied  the  cue-papers, 
and  he  was  at  length  master  of  a  system.  Nothing  was 
wanting  but  money  enough  to  carry  it  out,  and  this  he 
was  as  sure  of  raising  at  short-cards  as  he  was  that  the 
day  or  night  would  come  when  he  would  get  the  upper 
hand  of  the  beast,  and  wear  his  hide  the  remainder  of 
his  life  as  a  trophy.  Half  of  his  sublime  aspiration  was 
realized.  One  fair  morning  he  found  himself  pos 
sessed  of  a  hundred  and  fifty  dollars,  the  accumulation 
of  many  smart  local  operations — for,  after  quitting  the 
parental  roof  and  wandering  far  and  near  for  twelve  or 
fifteen  years,  he  had  married  and  settled  in  Tallapoosa. 
It  was  the  largest  sum  he  had  ever  had  at  one  time  be 
fore.  His  dream  was  about  to  be  realized.  He  would 
at  once  go  to  Tuscaloosa,  then  the  capital  of  Alabama, 
beard  the  tiger  in  his  lair,  clean  out  the  legislature, 
vindicate  his  genius  and  opinions,  and  live  like  a  fight 
ing-cock  off  the  proceeds.  Considering  the  magnitude 
of  the  proposed  expedition,  Simon's  means,  it  must  be 
owned,  were  a  little  short.  "But,  what's  the  odds!" 
said  he,  when  he  started  on  his  foray,  "what's  the  odds 
— luck's  a  fortune."  A  hundred  and  fifty  was  as  good 

83 


The  Compromises  of  Life 

as  a  thousand  and  fifty — perhaps  better.  He  reached 
Tuscaloosa  in  safety,  having  picked  up  an  extra  twenty- 
dollar  note  by  the  way,  and  had  hardly  bolted  down  his 
supper  before,  like  Orlando,  he  set  out  in  quest  of  ad 
venture — in  point  of  fact,  to  seek  the  tiger.  Presently 
he  espied  a  narrow  stairway,  with  a  red  light  gleaming 
above  it.  He  waited  for  no  further  assurance.  He 
boldly  mounted  the  stairs  and  knocked  at  the  door. 

'Holloa!'  said  a  voice  within. 

'Holloa  yourself,"  says  Simon. 

'What  do  you  want?'  said  the  voice. 

'A  game,'  says  Simon. 

'What's  the  name?'  said  the  voice. 

'Cash,'  says  Simon. 

Then  another  voice  said :  'Let  Cash  in.'    The  door 
was  opened  and  Simon  entered,  half-blinded  by  the  sud 
den  burst  of  light,  which  streamed  from  the  chandeliers 
and  lamps,  and  was  reflected  in  every  direction  by  the 
mirrors  which  walled  the  room.     Within  this  magic 
enclosure  were  tables  covered  with  piles  of  doubloons, 
silver  pieces,  and  bank-notes,  and  surrounded  by  eager 
but  silent  gamesters.    As  Simon  entered  he  made  a  rus 
tic  bow,  and  said  in  an  easy,  familiar  way : 
"  'Good-evenin',  gentlemen.' 
"No  one  noticed  him,  and  the  Captain  repeated: 
'  'I  say,  good-evenin',  gentleman.' 
"Notwithstanding  the  emphasis  with  which  the  words 
were  re-spoken,  there  was  no  response.     The  Captain 
was  growing  restive  and  felt  awkward,  when  he  over 
heard  a  conversation  between  the  two  young  men,  who 
stood  at  the  bar,  which  interested  him.    They  had  mis 
taken  him  for  General  Thomas  Witherspoon,  of  Ken 
tucky.    Simon  could,  of  course,  have  no  reasonable  ob- 


The  South  in  Light  and  Shade 

jection  to  be  taken  for  the  rich  hog-drover,  and,  having 
mentally  resolved  that,  if  he  was  not  respected  as  such 
during  the  evening,  it  would  be  no  fault  of  his,  he  saun 
tered  up  to  the  faro-table,  determined  to  bet  his  money 
while  it  lasted  with  the  spirit  and  liberality  which  he 
imagined  General  Witherspoon  would  have  displayed 
had  that  distinguished  citizen  been  personally  present. 

'  'Twenty-five-dollar  checks,'  said  he,  'and  that 
pretty  tolerably  d d  quick.' 

"The  dealer  handed  him  the  desired  symbol,  and  he 
continued  with  a  careless  air,  'Now  grind  on.'  He  put 
the  whole  amount  on  a  single  card,  and  it  won;  he 
repeated  five  times,  and  still  won;  he  was  master  of 
nearly  two  thousand  dollars.  The  rumor  that  he  was 
a  wealthy  sportsman  from  Kentucky  had  spread  through 
the  room,  which,  joined  to  his  turn  of  luck,  drew  a  little 
group  about  the  table.  The  Captain  thought  his  time 
had  come.  He  put  up  fifteen  hundred  dollars  on  the 
deuce.  This  was  amazing,  and  a  little  bandy-legged 
dry-goods  clerk,  who  looked  on,  observed: 

"'My  Lord,  General!  I  wouldn't  put  up  that 
much  on  a  single  turn.' 

"Simon  turned  upon  him,  and  glowered.  'You 
wouldn't,  wouldn't  you  ?  Well,  I  would.  And  I  tell 
you,  young  man,  the  reason  you  wouldn't  bet  fifteen 
hundred  dollars  on  the  duce.  It's  because  you  ain't  got 
no  fifteen  hundred  dollars  to  bet.' 

"This  sally  was  conclusive  as  to  the  wit  of  the  sup 
posititious  General.  The  deuce  won,  and  that  settled 
any  remaining  doubt  as  to  his  identity.  It  made  him  a 
hero.  Simon  took  his  good  fortune,  however,  with 
calm  deliberation,  responding  with  courtesy,  but  dig 
nity,  to  the  ovation  which  began  to  be  extended.  'I  do 
admit,'  said  he,  'that  it  is  better — just  the  least  grain  in 
the  world  better — than  drivin'  hogs  from  Kentucky  an' 
sellin'  'em  at  four  cents  a  pound.'  At  this  point  one  of 

85 


The  Compromises  of  Life 

the  young  men  who  had  mistaken  him  for  General 
Witherspoon  approached,  and,  stretching  out  his  hand, 
said: 

'  'Don't  you  know  me,  uncle?' 

"Captain  Suggs  drew  himself  up  with  as  much  dig 
nity  as  he  supposed  General  Witherspoon  would  have 
assumed,  and  said  that  he  did  not  know  the  young  man 
in  his  immediate  presence. 

"  'Don't  know  me,  uncle!'  said  the  young  man  some 
what  abashed.  'Why,  I'm  little  Jimmy  Peyton,  your 
sister's  son.  She's  been  expecting  you  for  several  days.' 

"All  very  well,  Mr.  James  Peyton,'  said  Simon,  with 
some  asperity,  'but  this  is  a  cur'us  world,  and  tolerably 
full  of  rascally  impostors;  so  it  stands  a  man  in  hand 
that  has  got  somethin',  like  me,  to  be  pretty  particu 
lar.' 

"  'Oh,'  said  several  in  the  crowd,  'you  needn't  be 
afraid ;  everybody  knows  he's  the  Widow  Peyton's  son.' 

'  'Wait  for  the  waggin,  gentlemen,'  says  Simon. 
'I'm  a  leetle  notionary  about  these  things,  an'  I  don't 
want  to  take  a  nephy  'thout  he's  giniwine.  This  young 
man  mout  want  to  borrow  money  o'  me.' 

"Mr.  Peyton  protested  against  such  a  suggestion. 

'  'Very  good,'  says  the  Captain,  approvingly ;  'I 
mout  want  to  borry  money  of  him.' 

"Mr.  Peyton  expressed  his  willingness  to  share  his 
last  cent  with  his  uncle. 

"  'So  far  so  good/  says  the  Captain ;  'but  it  ain't 
every  man  I'd  borry  from.  In  the  fust  place,  I  must 
know  ef  he's  a  gentleman.  In  the  second  place,  he  must 
be  my  friend.  In  the  third  place,  I  must  think  he's 
both  able  an'  willin'  to  afford  the  accommodation.' 

"These  sentiments  were  applauded,  and  the  Captain 
continued:  'Now,  young  man,  just  answer  me  a  few 
plain  questions.  What's  your  mother's  first  name?' 

"  'Sarah,'  said  Mr.  Peyton,  meekly. 

86 


The  South  in   Light  and  Shade 

"  'Right  so  far,'  says  Simon.  'Now,  how  many  chil 
dren  has  she?' 

'  'Two — me  and  brother  Tom.' 

"  'Right  ag'in,'  says  Simon,  and,  bowing  to  the  com 
pany,  'Tom,  gentlemen,  were  named  arter  me — warn't 
he,  sir?' — this  last  with  great  severity. 

'  'He  was,  sir — his  name  is  Thomas  Witherspoon.' 

"Simon  affected  great  satisfaction.  'Come  here, 
Jeems.  Gentlemen,  I  call  you  one  and  all  to  witness 
that  I  rekognize  this  here  young  man  to  be  my  proper, 
giniwine  nephy — my  sister  Sally's  son;  an'  I  wish  him 
rispected  as  sich.  Jeems,  hug  your  old  uncle.' 

"After  many  embraces  and  much  gratulation,  during 
which  Simon  shed  tears,  he  resumed  his  fight  with  the 
tiger.  But  the  fickle  goddess,  jealous  of  his  attentions 
to  the  nephew  of  General  Witherspoon,  turned  darkly 
upon  him.  He  lost  all  his  gains  as  fast  as  he  had  won 
them,  and  with  the  same  calm  composure.  Indeed,  he 
made  merry  with  his  multiplying  disasters,  such  as 
'Thar  goes  a  fine,  fat  porker,'  and  'That  makes  the 
whole  drove  squeal.'  At  length  he  had  not  a  dollar 
left.  'My  friend,'  said  he  to  the  dealer,  'could  an  old 
Kentuckian  as  is  fur  from  home  bet  a  few  mighty  slick 
fat  bacon  hogs  ag'in'  money  at  this  here  table?'  Of 
course  he  could,  and  presently  had  bet  off  the  biggest 
drove  that  had  ever  entered  Alabama. 

"  'Jeems,'  says  he. 
;  'Yes,  uncle.' 

"  'Jeems,  my  son,  I'm  a  leetle  behind  to  this  here 
gentleman  here,  an'  I'm  obliged  to  go  to  Greensboro  by 
to-night's  stage  to  collect  some  money  as  is  owin'  to  me. 
Now,  ef  I  should  not  be  back  home  when  my  hogs 
come  in — es  likely  I  may  not  be — do  you,  Jeems,  take 
this  gentlemen  to  wharever  the  boys  put  'em  up,  and 
see  to  it  that  he  picks  out  thirty  of  the  very  best  of  the 
drove.  D'ye  mind,  my  son  ?' 

87 


The  Compromises  of  Life 

"This  was  entirely  satisfactory  to  the  dealer,  and, 
having  settled  like  a  gentleman,  Simon  took  his  nephew 
into  a  corner  of  the  room,  and  says  he,  thoughtfully: 
'Jeems,  has — your — mother  bought  her  pork  yit?' 

"Mr.  Peyton  said  she  had  not. 

'  'Well,  Jeems,  you  go  down  to  the  pen  when  the 
drove  comes  in,  an'  pick  her  out  ten  of  the  best.  Tell 
the  boys  to  show  the  new  breed — them  Berkshires.'  " 

Mr.  Peyton  made  his  grateful  acknowledgments,  and 
the  two  started  back  to  rejoin  the  company.  But 
Simon  paused.  "Stop,"  says  he.  "You  moutn't  have 
a  couple  o'  hundred  about  you  that  I  could  use  until  I 
get  back  from  Greensboro,  mout  you  ?" 

Mr.  Peyton  had  only  about  fifty,  but  he  could  raise 
the  rest,  which  he  did  at  once.  Then  there  was  a  good 
deal  of  joking  and  drinking,  and  Simon,  finding  that 
General  Witherspoon  had  unlimited  credit  at  the  bar, 
treated  the  whole  company  to  a  champagne  supper. 
At  last,  at  four  o'clock  in  the  morning,  he  and  James 
Peyton  repaired  to  the  Greensboro  coach.  Just  before 
entering  this  vehicle,  Simon  stopped  to  bid  an  affection 
ate  adieu  to  his  nephew.  He  was  very  full. 

"  'Jeems,'  says  he,  'I  say,  Jeems.  I  may  forgit  them 

fellers,  but  they'll  never  forgit  me.  I'm  if  they 

do.'  Being  assured  that  they  never  would,  he  contin 
ued  :  'Jeems,  has  yer  mother  bought  her  hogs  yit  ?' 

"  'No,  sir,'  says  Peyton.  'You  know  you  told  me  to 
take  ten  of  your  hogs  for  her — don't  you  recollect?' 

"  'Don't  do  that,'  says  Simon. 

"'No,  Uncle?' 

'"TAKE  TWENTY!'" 


The  South  in   Light  and  Shade 

The  military  career  of  Captain  Suggs  sustained  the 
character  he  had  secured  for  himself  in  civil  life.  He 
commanded  at  Fort  Suggs  during  the  Creek  war.  His 
company  of  Tallapoosa  Volunteers  were  sometimes 
dubbed  by  his  political  adversaries  "The  Forty 
Thieves,"  but  this  was  afterward  proved  to  be  a  slander. 
There  were  only  thirty-nine  of  them.  They  and  their 
gallant  chief  were  never  engaged  in  regular  combat 
with  the  Indians,  but  their  exploits  upon  watermelons 
and  hen-roosts  made  them  famous.  Notwithstanding 
these,  however,  the  close  of  the  Creek  war  found  Simon 
as  poor  as  he  had  been  when  it  began.  The  money 
which  he  had  obtained  by  such  devious,  yet  difficult, 
operations  had  melted  away.  At  length,  Mrs.  Suggs 
informed  him  that  "the  sugar  and  coffee  were  nigh 
about  out,"  and  that  there  were  "not  above  a  dozen 
j'ints  an'  middlin's,  all  put  together,  in  the  smoke 
house."  To  a  man  of  Suggs's  affection  this  state  of 
destitution  was  most  distressing.  He  pondered  over  it 
with  bitter  anguish.  Then  he  rose  and  paced  the  floor. 
Presently  his  features  were  set,  his  mind  was  fixed. 
"Somebody  must  suffer,"  said  he.  He  would  go  to  a 
camp-meeting,  he  would  get  religion,  he  would  enter 
the  ministry  and  build  a  church.  He  did  not  doubt 
that  his  versatile  talents  would  carry  him  through  this 
new  part,  and  he  was  more  than  justified  by  the  result. 
He  went  up  to  be  prayed  for,  he  toiled  three  days  with 
the  evil  spirits,  and  when  he  had  made  himself  the  ob- 

89 


The  Compromises  of  Life 

ject  of  universal  sympathy  and  hope,  he  shouted  "halle 
lujah,"  and  from  a  miserable,  impenitent  sinner  became 
at  once  an  exhorter  with  surprising  revivalistic  talents. 


"  'Ante  up,  brethering,'  he  cried ;  'ante  up !  I  come 
in  on  nary  pa'r,  an'  see  what  I  drawed.  This  is  a  game 
whar  everybody  wins.  You  jest  stick  to  the  devil  when 
he  raises  yer  and  raise  him  back,  and  he  can't  turn  you 
off.  In  the  service  of  the  church  you  allers  holds  four 
aces.'  This  was  a  new  style  of  religious  illustration; 
but  it  took  amazingly,  and  in  a  few  days  Simon  devel 
oped  his  purpose  to  enter  the  ministry  and  build  a 
church,  'ef  he  could  git  help.'  It  was  agreed  that  a 
collection  should  be  taken ;  that  the  proceeds  should  be 
placed  in  the  hands  of  the  Rev.  Belah  Bugg,  in  trust, 
and  that  Simon  should  be  sent  back  to  Tallapoosa,  re 
joicing  in  his  new-found  grace.  In  passing  around 
through  the  congregation  Simon's  appeals  were  at  once 
persuasive  and  peculiar.  'Stack  'em  up,  brethering,'  says 
he,  'and  don't  be  bashful  or  backward.  They'll  size 
theyselves  any  way  you  pitch  'em  in.  Don't  you  see 
me?  Ain't  you  proud  of  me?  I'm  a  hoary  old  sinner, 
but  I  kin  draw  to  a  meetin'-house,  an'  git  a  whole  con 
gregation.'  Three  hundred  dollars  were  thrown  into 
the  hat.  After  the  collection  Brother  Bugg  said: 
'Well,  Brother  Suggs,  well  done,  thou  good  and  faith 
ful  servant.  Let's  go  and  count  it  out.  I've  got  to 
leave  presently.' 

'  'No,'  says  Simon,  solemnly,  'I  can't  do  that.' 

'  'Why,  Brother  Suggs,'  says  Brother  Bugg,  'what 
are  the  matter?' 

"Simon  looked  at  him  for  a  moment  sadly,  and  says 
he,  'Brother  Bugg,  it's  got  to  be  prayed  over  fust'  His 
whole  face  was  illuminated.  It  looked  like  a  torchlight 
procession. 

90 


The  South  in  Light  and  Shade 

'  'Well,'  says  Bugg,  'let's  go  to  one  side  and  do  it.' 

''  'No,'  says  Simon,  sweetly. 

"Mr.  Bugg  was  impressed,  but  uncertain.  He  gave 
a  look  of  inquiry. 

"Says  Simon:  'You  see  that  krick  swamp?  I'm 
gwine  down  in  thar;  I'm  gwine  into  that  lonely  swamp, 
an'  I'm  gwine  to  lay  this  means  down  so,  an'  I'm  gwine 
to  git  on  these  kn-e-e-s,  an'  I'm  n-e-v-e-r  gwine  to  git  up 
ontil  I  feel  its  blessin'.  An'  nobody  ain't  got  to  be  thar 
but  me — jess  me  an'  the  good  spirits  as  goes  with  me.' 

"The  Rev.  Belah  Bugg  was  overcome.  He  could  not 
say  a  word.  He  wrung  the  hand  of  the  new  convert, 
and  wished  him  'God-speed.'  Simon  struck  for  the 
swamp,  where  his  horse  was  already  hitched  and  wait 
ing.  He  mounted  and  rode  musingly  away.  'Ef  I 
didn't  do  them  fellers  to  a  crackin','  says  he,  Til  never 
bet  on  two  pa'r  ag'in.  They  are  pretty  peart  at  the 
game  theyselves ;  but  live  and  let  live  is  my  motto,  an', 
arter  all,  gen'us  and  experience  ought  to  count  for 
somethin'  in  the  long  run.'  " 

At  various  times  in  his  life,  Simon  appeared  before 
the  courts  to  answer  for  his  sins;  but  he  never  failed 
to  come  off  with  flying  colors.  His  last  appearance 
was  as  a  witness  before  the  grand  jury.  It  was  an 
especial  panel,  embracing  the  judge  of  the  circuit  and 
all  the  leading  lawyers. 

"  'Captain  Suggs,'  said  the  foreman,  'did  you  play  a 
game  of  cards  last  Saturday  night  in  a  room  above  Ster- 
ritt's  grocery?' 

1  'Yes,  sir,'  says  Simon,  'I  did.' 

'  'What  game  of  cards  did  you  play,  Captain  Suggs  ?' 

'  'Well,  sir,'  says  Simon,  'it  was  a  little  game  they 
call  draw-poker.' 

91 


The  Compromises  of  Life 

1  'You  played  for  money,  Captain  Suggs  ?' 

'  'No,  sir;  we  played  for  chips.' 
"This  stumped  the  foreman;  but  a  talented  Alex 
ander,  who  happened  to  be  on  the  jury,  put  in: 

"  'Of  course,  of  course,  you  played  for  chips,  Captain 
Suggs.  But  you  got  your  chips  cashed  at  the  close  of 
the  game,  didn't  you?' 

'  'I  don't  know  how  that  was,'  said  Simon ;  'es  for 
me,  I  had  no  chips  to  cash.'  " 

It  was  ever  thus  with  Simon,  and  it  was  this  which 
saved  him.  He  rarely  had  any  "chips  to  cash."  He 
was  always  in  a  good  humor,  he  was  always  a  willing 
soul,  he  was  always  ready,  and  he  was  always  short. 
In  his  old  age  he  repented  of  his  sins;  he  had  learned 
by  a  long  life,  full  of  rich  experience,  that  his  own 
motto,  "honesty  is  the  best  policy,"  was  true.  He 
pinned  his  faith  to  that ;  and  he  stood  to  it.  In  conse 
quence,  he  was  elected  sheriff  of  Tallapoosa  County — 
a  Whig  county — he  being  the  first  Democrat  who  ever 
carried  it.  He  died,  and  had  a  public  funeral,  and 
upon  his  tombstone  may  be  seen  inscribed  to  this  day 
the  following  inscription: 

"Sacred  to  the  memory  of 

CAPTAIN  SIMON  SUGGS, 

Of  the  Tallapoosa  Volunteers. 

He  never  hilt  an  opportune  hand  in  his  life;  but 
when  he  drew  upon  eternity,  it  is  believed  he  made  an 
invincible  in  the  world  to  come !" 

92 


The  South  in  Light  and  Shade 

I  take  it  that  there  there  is  no  one  here  this  evening 
who  has  not  heard  of  the  killing  of  McKissick.  It 
created  no  little  commotion  throughout  Coon  Creek 
settlement,  not  only  on  account  of  the  circumstances 
attending  the  homicide,  but  because  McKissick  was 
Jim  Gardner's  fourth  man.  According  to  Joe  Furgu- 
son's  testimony,  "Mr.  McKissick  were  sittin'  in  his 
back  store  a-playin'  of  his  fid-dell — not  thinkin'  of 
bein'  stobbed,  nor  nothin'  of  the  kind — when  the  pris 
oner  at  the  bar  comes  in  an'  stobs  Mr.  McKissick; 
whereupon  he  seizes  a  i'on  mallet,  lights  out  o'  the 
window,  lips  the  fence,  an'  clars  hisself."  Circum 
stances  so  heinous  the  law  could  not  brook.  The  judge 
sent  for  the  prosecuting  attorney,  and  observed  that  this 
time  Jim  Gardner  must  go  up;  but,  when  the  case 
came  to  trial,  the  defence  poured  in  unexepectedly 
strong.  Six  or  seven  witnesses  testified  that,  though  a 
dangerous  man  when  roused,  Gardner  was  peaceful 
and  unaggressive ;  that  his  various  killings  had  been  in 
self-defence,  and  that,  if  people  would  let  him  alone, 
he'd  let  them  alone.  As  a  last  resort,  the  prosecution, 
seeing  Billy  Driver  in  the  court-house,  and  observing  a 
dreadful  scar  upon  his  neck  from  a  wound  inflicted  by 
the  prisoner  some  years  before,  called  him  to  the  stand. 

"  'Mr.  Driver,'  said  the  State's  attorney,  'do  you 
know  the  prisoner  at  the  bar?' 
"What,  Gar'ner  there?' 
"  'Yes,  sir,  Gardner  there.' 

93 


The  Compromises  of  Life 

"  'Oh,  yes.    I  know  Gar'ner.' 

"  'How  long  have  you  known  him?' 

"'What,  Jim  Gar'ner?' 

'  'Yes,  sir,  Jim  Gardner.' 

'  'Well,  Jedge — you  see  I  disremember  riggers,  but 
as  man  an'  boy  it's  gwine  on  twenty  years — mout  be 
twenty-one  or  it  mout  be  nineteen  and  a  half — thar  or 
tharabouts.' 

'  'Where  did  you  get  that  scar  across  your  neck,  Mr. 
Driver?' 

1  'This  'ere  scar,  sir?' 

"  'Yes,  sir,  that  scar.  Didn't  it  result  from  a  wound 
inflicted  by  the  prisoner  at  the  bar,  sir?' 

'"What,  Gar'ner?' 

'  'Yes,  sir,  Gardner.' 

"  'Oh,  yes,  that  was  Gar'ner.     No  doubt  about  that.' 

'  'Now,  sir,  tell  the  jury  how  it  happened.' 

'  'Well,  you  see,  me  an'  a  parcel  o'  the  boys  was 
pitching  dollars  down  to  the  cross-roads,  and  Jim  Gar' 
ner  he  was  lyin'  on  the  grass,  a-keepin'  the  score.  Arter 
we'd  run  the  pot  up  to  fifteen  dollars — it  mout  ha'  been 
sixteen,  and  then  ag'in  it  moutn't  ha'  been  more'n  four 
teen — one  o'  the  boys  says,  'Le's  go  up  to  the  grocery 
an'  git  a  drink.'  We  all  'lowed  we'd  go,  an,  jes'  for 
devilment — not  thinkin'  thar  was  any  harm  in  it,  you 
know —  I  ups  an'  knocks  Jim  Gar'ner 's  hat  off,  and  says 
he,  'You  cussed,  bow-legged,  mandy-shanked,  knock- 
kneed,  wreb-footed,  tangle-haired  vermint,  if  you  do  that 
ag'in  I'll  cut  your  ornery  throat  for  you.'  Well,  we 
gits  a  drink  and  goes  back  to  the  cross-roads,  an'  in 
about  a  hour,  or  a  hour  an'  a  half — it  mout  ha'  been 
two  hours — one  o'  the  boys  says  ag'in,  'Le's  go  up  to  the 
grocery  an'  git  a  drink.'  So  we  was  gwine  along  to  the 
grocery  to  git  a  drink,  and  jes'  for  devilment,  you  know 
— an'  not  thinkin'  Gar'ner  was  in  yearnest — I  ups  an' 
knocks  his  hat  off,  an'  the  fust  thing  I  know'd  he  whips 

94 


The  South  in  Light  and  Shade 

out  a  knife  and  ducks  it  into  my  throat.  I  didn't  have 
no  weapon  nor  nothin',  so  I  'lowed  I'd  better  put  a  little 
daylight  'tween  me  an'  Gar'ner,  and  I  sorter  sidled  off, 
like,  he  follerin' ;  but,  Lord !  I  know'd  I  had  the  bottom 
an'  the  hills,  and  that  he  couldn't  ketch  up  with  me. 
So  every  now  an'  then  I'd  stop  an'  let  him  closer,  jes'  to 
devil  him.  Arter  a  while,  however,  he  picks  up  a  hay- 
fork( ' 

"  'Stop,  sir !     Was  that  hay-fork  of  wood  or  iron  ?' 

"  'It  mout  ha'  been  o'  wood,  or  it  mout  ha'  been  o' 
iron,  or  it  mout  ha'  been  o'  steel,  or ' 

'  'How  many  teeth  did  it  have?' 

'  'Well,  you  see,  when  I  see  Jim  Gar'ner  pick  up 
the  hay-fork,  thinks  I,  I  better  put  a  little  more  day 
light  between  me  an'  him,  an'  I  disremember  the  num 
ber  o'  teeth — it  mout  ha'  been  two,  and  then  ag'in  it 
mout  ha'  been  four,  may  be  five — I  was  in  a  bit  of  a 
hurry,  an'  I  didn't  exactly  count  'em.' 

"  'Go  on,  sir!' 

'  'I  did  go  on,  sir,  an'  presently  we  got  in  sight  o' 
my  house,  an'  my  wife  happened  to  be  comin'  out  to  cut 
some  wood,  and  as  I  rin  past  her  to  get  out  o'  Gar'ner's 
way,  she  fetched  him  with  the  axe.' 

'  'Exactly,  but  for  which  he  would  have  killed  you.' 
'"What,  Gar'ner?' 

'  'Yes,  sir,  Gardner.' 

"  'Oh,  in  course — in  course.  It  stands  to  reason. 
Thar  warn't  no  other  door  for  me  to  get  out  of,  an'  he 
would  ha'  been  in  that  if  my  wife  hadn't  downed  him 
with  the  axe.' 

'  'How  far  is  it  from  the  cross-roads  to  your  house, 
Mr.  Driver?' 

'  'Bout  a  mile,  or  a  mile  an'  a  half,  Jedge — may  be 
two  mile.     I  never  measured  it  axactly.' 

"  'Now,  Mr.  Driver,  will  you  tell  the  court  what 
sort  of  a  man  you  consider  the  prisoner  at  the  bar?' 

95 


The  Compromises  of  Life 

'"What,  Gar'ner?' 

'  'Yes,  sir,  Gardner.' 

'  'I  do'no  nothin'  ag'in  Gar'ner,  sir.' 

''  'Don't  you  think  him  a  desperate  character,  sir?' 

'  'What,  Gar'ner?' 

'  'Yes,  sir,  Gardner.' 

'  'No,  sir;  I  never  hearn  Gar'ner  so  called.' 

'  'Why,  you  say  he  cut  your  throat  almost  from  ear 
to  ear,  followed  you  with  an  iron  or  steel  hay-fork  for 
two  miles,  and  was  only  prevented  from  taking  your 
life  by  the  interposition  of  your  wife.' 
"'What,  Gar'ner?' 

1  'Yes,  sir,  Gardner.' 

'  'I  can't  swear  he  didn't,  sir.' 

'  'Then,  if  you  don't  consider  him  a  desperate  char 
acter,  what  do  you  consider  him  ?' 

'  'What,  Gar'ner,  sir?' 

'  'Yes,  sir,  Gardner.' 

1  'Well,  your  honor,  of  course  Gar'ner  is  a  clever 
man — I've  know'd  of  him  gwine  on  to  twenty  years — 
mout  be  twenty-one,  an'  ag'in  it  moutn't  be  but  nine 
teen  and  a  half — an'  I  should  say  that  Gar'ner  is  a  man 
that  it  won't  do  to  go  a-projeckin'  with  him.'  " 


There  used  to  be,  and  I  fear  there  still  are,  a  good 
many  men  in  the  South  with  whom  "it  won't  do  to  go 
a-projeckin'."  It  is  true  that  we  have  reformed  that 
indifferently,  and  we  hope,  in  time,  to  reform  it  alto 
gether;  howbeit,  there  is  a  deal  of  misconception 
abroad  touching  the  character  of  our  murderers.  They 
are  not,  as  is  stated  so  often,  young  gentlemen  of  the 
first  families.  On  the  contrary,  they  are  with  us,  as 
elsewhere,  low  fellows  —  mere  brutes  and  bullies. 

96 


The  South  in  Light  and  Shade 

There  is,  perhaps,  more  stealing  than  killing  in  the 
North,  and  more  killing  than  stealing  in  the  South, 
because  the  criminal  classes  of  each  section  go  for  that 
which  is  cheapest,  safest,  and  most  abundant — money  or 
blood,  as  the  case  may  be ;  but  crime  is  crime  the  coun 
try  over,  and  nothing  could  be  more  unjust  than  the 
assumption  of  superior  morality  by  the  inhabitants  of 
any  part  of  it.  No  people  in  the  world  are  more 
homogeneous  than  the  people  of  the  United  States. 
Where  differences  exist  they  are  purely  exterior.  The 
self-governing  principle,  the  vestal  fire  of  our  Anglo- 
Saxon  race,  is  strong  enough  and  warm  enough  to 
maintain  our  system  of  Anglo-Saxon  freedom  and  law 
to  the  farthest  ends  of  the  Republic.  Like  a  touch  of 
nature,  making  the  whole  Union  kin,  it  joins  the  States, 
and  should  be  left  in  each  to  do  its  work  in  its  own 
way.  The  methods  which  suit  one  State  may  not  suit 
another;  but  in  all  we  may  safely  trust  the  result  to 
the  good  sense  and  good  feeling,  shaped  by  the  inter 
est  and  guided  by  the  intelligence,  of  the  greater  num 
ber,  sure  that  in  the  South,  no  less  than  in  the  North, 
the  conservative  forces  of  society,  left  to  themselves, 
will  prevail  over  violence  and  wrong.  Much,  if  not 
most,  of  the  disorder  of  the  last  few  years  has  been 
directly  traceable  to  a  conflict  of  jurisdictions,  State 
and  Federal.  Between  the  two  stools  justice  fell  to 
the  ground,  while  malefactors  made  their  escape.  It  is 
absurd  to  suppose  that  any  civilized  people,  living 

97 


The  Compromises  of  Life 

within  the  sound  of  church-bells,  can  love  lawlessness 
for  its  own  sake. 

If  the  manhood  of  the  South  were  less  true  than  it 
is,  it  would  be  held  to  its  standards  by  the  womanhood 
of  the  South.  During  our  period  of  savage  conten 
tion  this  shone  with  a  sweet  and  gracious  lustre,  which 
dazzled  even  those  against  whom  it  was  directed,  so 
that  the  worst  which  was  said  of  the  Southern  woman 
by  soldiers  whom  only  the  laws  of  war  made  her  ene 
mies,  related  to  her  fidelity  in  what  they  considered  a 
bad  cause.  But  if  in  time  of  war  she  was  plucky,  pa 
tient,  and  sincere,  her  triumphs  have  been  tenfold 
greater  during  a  peace  which  has  spread  before  her 
harder  trials  still;  the  transition  from  wealth  to  pov 
erty,  with  its  manifold  heart-burnings  and  mischances, 
joining  the  sharp  pangs  of  memory  to  the  grievous  bur 
dens  of  every-day  life;  the  unfamiliar  broomstick  and 
the  unused  darning-needle;  the  vacant  clothes-chest  and 
the  empty  cupboard — 

"The  desecrated  shrine,  the  trampled  ear, 
The  smould'ring  homestead  and  the  household  flower, 
Torn  from  the  lintel." 

I  know  nothing  more  admirable  in  all  the  world  of 
history  or  romance  than  the  blithe,  brave  woman  of 
the  South,  grasping  the  realities  of  life  in  hands  yet 
trembling  with  the  interment  of  its  ideals,  and  plant 
ing  upon  the  grave  of  her  first  and  only  love  signals 
98 


The  South  in  Light  and  Shade 

of  fortitude  and  honor,  cheerfulness  and  gentleness,  to 
be  seen  and  followed  by  her  children.  These  she  would 
have  inherit  with  the  misfortunes  of  the  South,  the 
pride  of  the  South — not  expressed  in  noisy  vaunt  and 
scorn  of  honest  toil,  in  idleness  and  repining,  but  in  a 
noble  nature  and  a  gift  for  work. 

In  the  full  meridian  of  their  prosperity,  the  people 
of  the  South  were  an  easy-going,  pleasure-loving  people. 
You  will  not  have  failed  to  observe,  in  the  rude  examples 
of  Southern  humor  which  I  have  cited,  the  conspicuous 
part  played  by  the  literature  of  the  pictorial  paste 
boards,  by  cards  and  gaming.  It  could  not  be  other 
wise  if  they  should  be  true  to  nature  and  reality.  Men 
who  dwell  upon  great  estates,  who  are  surrounded  by 
slaves,  who  have  few  excitements  or  cares,  are  likely 
to  grow  indolent.  The  Southern  gentleman  had  plenty 
of  time,  and  he  thought  he  had  plenty  of  money  to  lose. 
A  wide  veranda,  a  party  of  agreeable  neighbors,  ice- 
water  to  burn  and  Havana  cigars,  a  brisk  little  black 
boy  to  keep  off  the  flies,  and  a  bright  little  yellow  boy 
to  pass  about  the  nutmeg — that  was  the  ideal  state. 
Of  course  the  lower  orders  imitated  and  vulgarized, 
as  I  have  shown,  the  luxurious  habits  of  the  upper. 
The  crash  came ;  and,  like  the  unsubstantial  pageant  of 
a  dream,  the  pretty  fabric  fell.  The  great  and  the 
small,  the  good  and  the  ill,  were  buried  under  one  com 
mon  ruin.  There  is  hardly  anything  left  of  the  gilded 
structure.  It  is  no  longer  fashionable  or  respectable  to 

99 


The  Compromises  of  Life 

fribble  the  days  away  in  idle,  costly  pleasure.  Battle- 
scarred,  time-worn,  and  care-worn,  the  South  that  is, 
is  most  unlike  the  South  that  was.  There  is  something 
truly  pathetic  in  the  spectacles  of  altered  fortune  which 
everywhere  meet  the  eye ;  for  in  the  old  life  there  were 
very  few  shadows.  Such  as  there  were  gathered  them 
selves  about  the  negro  cabins. 

I  have  purposely  omitted  the  humors  of  the  Southern 
black,  because,  amusing  though  they  be,  they  are  not 
essentially  racy  of  the  soil.  The  negro  is  an  African 
in  Congo  or  in  Kentucky,  in  Jamaica  or  in  Massachu 
setts.  His  humor  is  his  own,  a  department  to  itself, 
embracing,  amid  much  that  is  grotesque,  more  that  is 
touching ;  for  his  lot  has  been  as  varied  as  his  complex 
ion,  and  ever  and  ever  of  a  darksome  hue.  I  know 
nothing  that  appeals  so  directly  to  the  intellects  and 
sensibilities  of  thoughtful  men  as  the  treatment  he  has 
received  among  us,  North  and  South,  in  the  present  and 
in  the  past,  and  I  declare  that  when  I  think  of  him, 
funny  as  he  may  seem  to  be,  I  am  moved  by  any  other 
than  mirthful  suggestions.  I  look  back  into  that  by-gone 
time,  and  I  see  him,  not  as  a  squalid  serf,  picturesque  in 
his  rags,  or  as  we  behold  him  on  the  minstrel  stage — 
the  clown  in  the  pageant  making  merry  with  cap  and 
bell — but  as  an  image  of  impending  sorrow  crouched 
beneath  the  roof-tree,  God's  shadow  upon  the  dial  of 
American  progress,  whose  cabalistic  figures  the  wisest 
have  not  been  able  to  read.  I  turn  away  dismayed.  I 
100 


The  South  in  Light  and  Shade 

dare  not  look  upon  the  scene  and  laugh,  if  he  is  to  be 
a  part  of  it.  I  only  know,  and  to  that  degree  I  am 
happy,  that  slavery  is  gone  with  other  bag  and  baggage 
of  an  obsolete  time;  that  it  is  all  gone — the  wide 
veranda  filled  with  pleasure-loving  folk ;  the  vast  estate, 
without  a  reason  for  its  existence  or  a  purpose  in  the 
future ;  the  system  which,  because  it  was  contented,  re 
fused  to  realize  or  be  impressed  by  the  movements  of 
mankind. 

All,  all  has  passed  away.  The  very  life  which  made 
it  possible  is  gone.  The  man  who,  being  able  to  pursue 
his  bent,  lives  to  amuse  himself,  is  hardly  more  thought 
of  now  than  the  poor  parasite  who  seeks  to  live  and 
thrive  off  the  weaknesses  and  vices  of  his  betters. 
Never  again  shall  the  observation  of  the  Governor  of 
North  Carolina  to  the  Governor  of  South  Carolina  be 
quoted  as  a  wise,  witty,  and  relevant  remark;  never 
again  shall  the  black  boy's  dream  of  happiness  be 
realized  in  the  polishing  of  an  unexpected  pair  of  boots. 
If  proselytism  be  the  supremest  joy  of  mankind,  New 
England  ought  to  be  supremely  happy.  It  is  at  length 
the  aim  of  the  Southron  to  out- Yankee  the  Yankees,  to 
cut  all  the  edges,  and  repair  his  losses  by  the  success 
ful  emulation  of  Yankee  thrift.  Taking  a  long  view 
of  it,  I  am  not  sure  it  is  best  for  the  country,  although, 
as  matters  stand,  I  know  it  to  be  better  for  the  South. 


101 


MONEY  AND  MORALS* 

Last  winter  as  I  was  about  setting  out  to  fill  a  round 
of  lecture  engagements  I  received  a  letter  from  an  old 
friend  of  mine  saying  he  had  seen  it  stated  in  the  news 
papers  that  I  was  going  to  talk  about  money  and  morals 
and  adding  regretfully  that,  as  he  had  very  little  of 
either,  he  would  come  and  hear  me.  Let  me  hope  that 
those  of  you  who  have  done  me  the  honor  to  come  here 
to-night  have  not  been  drawn  out  by  a  similar  state  of 
destitution.  Because,  to  be  in  the  beginning  entirely 
candid  and  confidential  with  you,  it  is  not  my  purpose 
in  undertaking  a  few  guesses  at  truth  touching  those 
great  forces  of  life  and  thought,  to  dwell  overlong  upon 
the  economic  aspects  of  the  one,  or  the  abstract  relations 
of  the  other.  Whatever  may  have  been  my  offences  in 
that  regard,  and  on  occasions  past  and  gone,  it  is  my 
present  wish  rather  to  avoid  than  to  invite,  or  provoke, 
controversy;  though,  as  a  matter  of  fact,  I  do  not  be 
lieve  that,  since  the  days  of  the  bard  who  "wrote  like 
an  angel  and  talked  like  poor  Poll,"  the  man  has  lived 
who  could  argue  a  case  better,  or  more  to  his  own  satis 
faction — when  there  happened  to  be  no  one  to  listen  to 

*  1888. 
1 02 


Money  and  Morals 

him,  or  to  answer  him — than  I  can  myself.  And  yet, 
on  the  other  hand,  if  we  would  only  allow  ourselves  to 
see  it,  there  is  scarcely  any  question,  public  or  private, 
which  has  not  two  sides  to  it,  and  on  which  some  com 
mon  ground  might  not  be  found  by  the  man  who  should 
seek  honestly  to  ascertain  the  actual  facts  involved,  and, 
although  agreement  as  to  conclusions  might  not  always 
follow,  certainly  much  of  the  bitterness  of  disagree 
ment  would  be  struck  out  of  the  record. 

Indeed,  I  am  inclined  to  believe  that  we  are,  as  a  rule, 
nearest  to  being  in  the  wrong  when  we  are  most  positive 
and  emphatic.  It  was,  you  will  remember,  William 
Lamb,  afterward  Lord  Melbourne,  who  said:  "I  wish 
I  could  be  as  sure  of  anything  as  Tom  Macaulay  is  of 
everything."  The  New  England  deacon  on  our  own 
side  of  the  water  put  this  idea  subjectively  and  wittily, 
when,  coming  out  of  church  on  a  Sunday,  he  observed 
to  the  neighbor,  between  whom  and  himself  there  had 
been  a  coolness,  "Brother  Jones,  after  listening  to  the 
discourse  of  our  beloved  pastor  to-day  upon  Christian 
charity,  I  think  you  and  I  ought  to  shake  hands  and  be 
friends  again.  Now,  as  I  can't  give  in,  you  must." 
That  man  was  a  humorist  no  less  than  a  philosopher, 
and  knew  that  he  was,  in  reality,  confessing  himself  to 
have  been  in  the  wrong.  It  is  a  thousand  pities  that 
humor,  which  is  to  philosophy  what  the  dews  of  Heaven 
are  to  the  earth,  does  not  descend  of  tener  into  our  hearts 
and  minds,  to  moisten  and  soften  what  it  finds  there; 
103 


The  Compromises  of  Life 

showing  us  through  each  reflecting  globule  and  prism 
the  pains  we  take  to  make  ourselves  and  others 
wretched;  and  all  in  our  own  selfishness  and  conceit. 
And  so,  my  friends,  in  what  I  am  going  to  say  to  you 
to-night  I  shall  at  least  not  be  pragmatical ;  though,  as  I 
happen  to  have  the  floor,  and  can't  give  in,  why,  in  case 
of  disagreement,  you  must ! 

Take  the  map  of  North  America  and  fix  it  in  your 
mind's  eye.  Behold,  what  an  empire!  Caesar  never 
looked  upon  the  like.  Napoleon,  in  his  wildest  dreams, 
conceived  nothing  so  magnificent  and  vast.  See  how  it 
takes  up  its  line  of  travel  with  the  North  Star ;  how  it 
coasts  along  the  frozen  seas  of  Alaska  and  Labrador; 
how  it  sweeps  round  the  capes  of  the  Newfoundland, 
losing  itself  a  moment  in  the  mist;  how  it  skips,  as  it 
were,  over  His  Majesty's  Dominions,  to  deepen  into  the 
pine  forests  and  granite  hills  of  New  England,  with  in 
land  oceans  for  its  jewels  and  the  great  Niagara  for  its 
crown  of  diamonds;  how  it  journeys  in  palace  coaches 
and  vestibule  trains  through  the  glorious  North  and  the 
teeming  South,  until,  dropping  its  rich  fruitions  into  the 
Gulf  Stream,  it  fades  at  last  into  a  vision  of  Paradise 
under  the  Southern  Cross,  amid  the  silence  and  the  soli 
tude  of  eternal  summer.  What  a  wealth  is  here  to 
elevate  the  mind ;  to  inspire  the  heart ;  to  make  us  proud 
of  our  country  and  ourselves !  What  historic  memories 
crowd  every  foot  of  the  way,  tracing  the  prowess  of  our 
land  and  race  in  the  bones  of  heroes  that  reach  to  the 
104 


Money  and  Morals 

borders  of  the  Polar  mystery,  to  the  bones  of  heroes  that 
have  enriched  the  soil  of  the  Montezumas,  marking,  in 
peace  and  war,  in  the  triumphs  of  the  senate  and  the 
field,  in  the  nobler  achievements  of  the  laboratory  and 
the  workshop,  the  progress  of  a  people  who  have  already 
revolutionized  the  New  World  and  put  the  Old  to 
blush,  and  who  are  destined  ultimately  to  absorb  all  the 
resources  of  the  earth  and  air,  and  all  the  arts  and  pow 
ers  of  man  in  his  state  of  final  and  complete  develop 
ment.  Is  there  anything  to  mar  the  prospect?  Is 
there  anything  to  dim  the  light,  or  to  darken  the  scene? 
Is  there  anything  across  the  great  highway  of  the  future 
to  obstruct  our  march  of  triumph  and  glory  as  a  nation 
and  a  people?  Yes,  I  think  that  there  is;  and,  recur 
ring  to  my  text,  and  still  keeping  money  and  morals  in 
mind,  nor  yet  forgetting  our  extradition  treaties  and 
our  detective  system,  I  answer  without  hesitation — 
Canada  and  Mexico.  Yes,  Canada  and  Mexico ;  Can 
ada,  the  ready  asylum  of  gentlemen  who  have  more 
money  than  legal  right  or  moral  title  to  it ;  Mexico,  the 
flowery  home  of  gentlemen  who,  with  or  without 
money,  have  no  morals  to  speak  of.  In  other  days,  the 
gentleman  possessed  of  an  obliquity  with  respect  to 
money,  or  the  gentleman  who  had  made  himself  re 
sponsible  for  a  funeral  not  sanctioned  by  morals, 
found  an  easy  retreat  on  this  side  of  the  Rio  Grande. 
You  will  remember  that  when  the  lawyer  heard 
from  his  client  the  whole  story  of  the  homicide, 
105 


The  Compromises  of  Life 

and  advised  the  survivor  to  fly,  the  client  was  most 
indignant. 

"What,  fly?"  said  he.  "Ain't  I  already  in  Texas?" 
The  Lone  Star  has  deepened  into  forty-five  stars 
since  then;  so  that  now  the  excursionist  who  would 
escape  the  importunities  of  the  sheriff  and  the  blandish 
ments  of  the  court  must  put  the  Sierras  betwixt  himself 
and  official  civility,  or  else  go  to  Canada  direct,  which, 
on  account  of  its  accessibility,  I  suppose,  seems  to  have 
gained  greatly  of  late  in  the  favor  of  those  tourists  who 
disdain  Cook's  tickets  and  have  no  time  to  wait  for  pass 
ports.  And  so  it  is  that  I  use  Canada  and  Mexico  as 
geographic  expressions  of  a  thought  that  irresistibly  calls 
up  the  genial  defaulter  and  the  able  embezzler,  to  say 
nothing  about  the  obliging  but  absconded  cashier  of  the 
savings-bank,  and  the  delightful  custodian  of  the  trust 
fund,  that  is,  alas,  no  more ;  and  not,  as  terms  of  ill-will 
or  offence  toward  those  friendly  neighbors  who,  as  in 
the  case  of  Texas  before  them,  will  one  day  rap  at  our 
outer  gates  for  admission  into  our  sisterhood  of  States. 
I  am  sure  that  there  is  no  one  here  to-night,  who  is 
old  enough  to  have  invaded  an  apple  orchard,  or  robbed 
a  watermelon  patch,  who  has  not  many  a  time  reflected 
what  a  great  thing  it  is  to  have  plenty  of  money.  All 
of  us  have  turned  that  matter  over  in  moments  of  reflec 
tion,  dejection,  and  embarrassment;  in  day-dreams,  see 
ing  a  fairy  ship  come  home  from  India,  and  building 
castles  in  the  air  off  the  proceeds  of  the  sale  of  the  cargo ; 
1 06 


Money  and  Morals 

in  those  yet  deeper  and  more  disappointing  dreams  of 
the  dead  of  night,  when  sleep  has  triumphed  over  toil 
and  care,  and  the  wheels  of  fancy,  going  round  and 
round  the  darkened  chamber,  have  revealed  to  us  at  last 
the  lucky  number  in  the  phantom  lottery.  Who  has 
not  thought  of  the  good  he  would  do  with  it ;  of  how  he 
would  minister  here  to  the  wants  of  the  poor  and  there 
to  the  needs  of  his  friend?  What  spendthrift  but  has 
paid  his  debts  oft"  the  usufruct  of  his  visions?  How 
many  a  wealthy  beggar,  a  golden  sorrow  ever  pressing 
about  his  heart,  rich  in  dollars,  though  relatively  poor — 
for  money,  like  all  things  else  in  life  except  love  and 
duty,  is  relative — how  many  a  millionaire,  encumbered 
by  his  possessions,  yet  unable  to  meet  the  demands  of 
those  inexorable  creditors,  Conscience,  Thought  &  Co., 
but  has  wished  a  thousand  times  over  that  money  was  a 
vision,  and  only  a  vision? 

I  say  that  money  is  relative,  and  it  is  very  relative. 
The  man  who  has  ten  millions  of  dollars  cuts  a  poor 
figure  by  the  man  who  has  two  or  three  hundred 
millions  of  dollars;  while  the  man  who  has  only  a 
measly  million  is,  in  the  estimation  of  these,  a  kind  of 
pauper.  The  man  who  has  a  hundred  thousand  dol 
lars  of  income  and  a  hundred  and  fifty  thousand  dollars 
of  wants  is  worse  off  than  the  man  who  has  nothing  and 
wants  his  dinner.  There  are  men,  dwelling  in  the 
great  money  centres,  who  contrive  to  eke  out  a  scanty 
livelihood  on  fifty  thousand  dollars  a  year,  and  who, 
107 


The  Compromises  of  Life 

discounting  the  cost  of  living  there  and  here,  are  unable 
to  conceive  how  any  man  can  possibly  get  on  here  for 
less  than  twenty-five  thousand  dollars  a  year ;  whereas, 
I  have  an  impression,  that,  if  I  should  go  out  into  this 
community  with  a  search-warrant — even  out  into  this 
audience,  manifest  as  are  its  evidences  of  wealth  and 
culture — I  might  be  able  to  find  a  few  persons  who 
manage  to  make  both  ends  meet  on  half  that  sum. 

But  this  is  by  no  means  all.  Money  is  not  only  rela 
tive;  it  is  full  of  illusions  and  delusions.  From  the 
poor  creature  who  is  sure  he  will  get  it  somehow,  he 
doesn't  know  nor  care  much  how,  and  who  goes  into 
debt  on  the  strength  of  his  expectations,  to  the  poor 
creature  who  has  no  hope  in  particular,  but  who  loves 
to  talk  about  it ;  from  the  wan  woman  in  the  attic,  wait 
ing  for  the  letter  that  never  comes,  to  the  brave  and 
honest  lad  by  the  furnace,  who  doubts  not  that  the  ham 
mer  in  his  hand  is  a  wizard's  wand — as  it  often  is — and 
who  never  means  to  let  it  go  until  he  has  struck  fortune 
out  of  the  dregs  and  dross  of  the  earth ;  from  the  capi 
talist  in  his  counting-house,  to  whom  money  is  now  a 
master  and  now  a  slave,  but  always  an  attending  geni, 
to  the  young  fellow  behind  the  counter  who  gets  seven 
dollars  a  week  for  selling  prints  and  playing  baseball  on 
Sundays ;  yea,  from  the  little  maiden  out-o'-doors,  hang 
ing  up  the  clothes  and  singing  her  song  o'  sixpence — 

"Pocket  full  o'  rye," 
1 08 


Money  and  Morals 

to  the  Queen  in  her  royal  robes  and  in  the  kitchen, 
"Eating  bread  and  honey" 

— prince,  peasant,  philosopher,  statesman,  and  warrior, 
all  of  us  have  at  one  time  or  another  had  a  touch  from 
that  fatal  wand,  which  has  brought  so  much  happiness, 
and  so  much  wretchedness  into  the  world,  and  will  con 
tinue  to  do  so  as  long  as  the  world  endures. 

For  money  is  the  first,  greatest  of  the  material  facts 
of  which  life  is  composed;  it  is  the  pivot  about  which 
everything  else  revolves;  the  piston-rod  that  drives  all 
else.  Whether  we  take  counsel  of  the  New  Testament 
and  regard  the  love  of  it  as  "the  root  of  all  evil,"  or  fall 
in  with  the  cynicism  of  Heine  that  "money  is  god,  and 
Rothschild  is  his  prophet,"  no  man  can  afford  to  disre 
gard  it,  or  to  leave  it  out  of  his  account.  Bacon  calls  it 
"the  baggage  of  virtue,"  but  even  he  admits  that,  though 
it  hindereth  the  march,  "it  cannot  be  spared,  or  left  be 
hind."  It  is  the  one  thing  universally  used  and  abused ; 
universally  coveted  and  reviled.  All  men  affect  to  hold 
it  lightly,  and  all  men  I  am  afraid  secretly  hanker  after 
it.  For  my  own  part — though  not  as  a  rule  given  to 
the  pharisaic  mood — I  am  thankful  to  God  that  to  me 
it  has  been  at  all  times  an  instrument  and  not  an  end, 
and  that,  with  debts  paid  and  a  shot  in  the  locker,  I 
would  about  as  soon  be  myself  as  a  gold  mine,  for  all 
the  further  good  that  money  can  do  me.  Indeed,  I  was 
never  happier  in  my  life  than  when,  to  escape  the 
109 


The  Compromises  of  Life 

humiliation  of  borrowing  from  an  uncle  whose  politics 
I  did  not  approve,  I  went  with  my  watch  to  an  uncle 
who  had  no  politics  at  all  and  got  $50  on  it,  and  I  never 
knew  what  it  was  to  be  thoroughly  unhappy,  until  I 
had  acquired  a  considerable  income,  with  its  accumula 
tion  of  wants,  and  was  brought  into  close,  personal  inti 
macy  with  those  charming  friends  of  the  man  who  has 
what  they  call  credit  in  bank,  Mr.  Promissory  Note, 
and  Messrs.  Renewal,  Discount  &  Co. 

Nevertheless,  it  is  a  good  thing  to  have  plenty  of 
money,  honestly  obtained,  and  a  still  better  thing  if  this 
money  be  honestly  applied.  The  camel's  passage 
through  the  needle's  eye  may  have  been  easier  in  those 
old  days  than  the  rich  man's  entrance  into  the  gates  of 
Heaven — particularly  if  it  happened  to  be  a  very  small 
camel  and  a  very  large  needle — and  yet,  on  the  other 
hand,  there  must  have  been  many  a  rich  man  gone  to 
Heaven,  for  we  have  the  record  of  many  a  good  one  here 
on  earth;  men  who  have  served  God  and  loved  their 
fellow-men ;  and — 

"Given  freely  of  their  store 
To  the  needy  and  the  poor." 

I  should  hate  to  think  that  money  is  a  positive  bar  to 
salvation;  and  that  it  is  an  actual 'sin  to  seek  and  to 
gain  much  of  it.  But  it  is  undoubtedly  true,  that  it 
does  harden  and  corrupt  ten  times  to  the  one  time  that  it 
elevates  and  softens.  The  man  who  trades  in  money  is 
no 


Money  and  Morals 

apt  to  take  on  some  of  the  brittleness  of  the  metal  of 
which  it  is  composed.  He  gets  in  time  to  measure 
everything  and  everybody  by  that  one  metallic  standard. 
It  is  his  business  constantly  to  think  how  he  may  rub 
two  dollars  together  and  make  three  of  them,  or  better, 
four,  or  five,  or  six.  Capital  we  are  told  is  timid.  That 
is  because  it  has  no  heart  in  it.  But  it  has  eyes  and  ears, 
and  makes  up  for  its  lack  of  courage  by  a  craft  that 
rarely  trusts,  except  on  good  security,  and  never  tires, 
except  when  the  plate  is  passed,  and  is  always  suspicious 
and  alert.  How  many  a  good  fellow  have  I  not  known 
turned  into  a  bad  fellow  by  the  possession  of  money; 
how  many  a  generous  fellow  who  has  entered  a  bank  all 
grace  to  come  out  all  gall ;  and  how  few  the  cases  where 
money  has  enlarged  the  mind  and  amplified  the  soul. 

Our  literature  is  full  of  illustrations,  some  of  them 
humorous  and  some  of  them  pathetic,  showing  the  ills 
that  wealth,  particularly  sudden  wealth,  has  brought  to 
individuals  and  to  families.  But  we  need  not  these 
fictitious  examples.  We  are  continually  meeting  in  our 
daily  walks  and  ways  instances  that  point  the  moral  and 
adorn  the  tale  of  great  expectations  come  to  naught  by 
actual  realization  and  delightful  visions  of  the  fancy 
turned  to  ashes  of  dead-sea  fruit  in  the  hand  of  posses 
sion. 

It  is  my  belief  that  the  world  has  been  much  misled 
by  some  of  its  best  maxims,  or,  rather,  let  me  say,  by  the 
misinterpretation  of  some  of  its  most  accepted  maxims, 
in 


The  Compromises  of  Life 

There  is  no  one  of  these  which  appears  in  so  many  lan 
guages,  and  puts  itself  in  such  a  variety  of  phrase,  as 
that  which  urges  us  to  persevere  in  all  things.  Perse 
verance,  we  are  told,  conquers  all  things.  Then  we  are 
told  that  labor  conquers  all  things.  Then  we  are  told 
that  love  conquers  all  things.  Now  perseverance  will 
divert  no  man  from  the  uses  to  which  he  was  born; 
labor  will  not  create  out  of  a  clod  a  painter,  or  a  poet ; 
and  love,  for  all  its  enchantments  and  powers,  never  yet 
made  a  silk  purse  out  of  a  sow's  ear,  though  sometimes 
very  young  people  think  so.  Perseverance  may  apply 
itself  to  mistaken  objects;  and  then  it  becomes  vicious. 
Labor  may  be  misdirected,  and  so  be  wasted.  And,  in 
seeking  to  conquer,  love,  like  many  other  heroes,  often 
falls  a  victim  to  its  own  excesses.  How  many  a  man 
has  started  out  in  the  world,  saying,  "I  will  be  a  power, 
I  will  sacrifice  everything  to  power,"  or,  "I  will  be  rich, 
I  will  sacrifice  everything  to  riches,"  to  find,  before  the 
journey  was  half  over,  not  merely  that  no  one  of  the 
material  things  of  life  brings  happiness,  but  that  happi 
ness  itself  shifts  its  foot  from  time  to  time,  that  failing 
utterly  to  please  or  satisfy  us  at  five-and-forty,  which 
delighted  us  at  five-and-twenty.  Oftenest,  the  sacrifice 
is  made  to  failure ;  but,  even  where  success  is  attained, 
it  fails  somehow  to  bring  us  what  we  expected  of  it. 

An  eminent  public  man  once  said  to  me  in  the  pres 
ence  of  a  great  domestic  bereavement:  "I  got  into  the 
Senate  of  the  United  States  when  I  was  just  turned 
112 


Money  and  Morals 

thirty,  and  by  an  unusual  act  of  perfidy  and  treason  on 
the  part  of  a  supposed  friend,  lost  my  seat  two  or  three 
years  later.  From  that  day  to  this,  the  last  fifteen 
years,  the  sole  end  and  object  of  my  existence,  my 
one  aim  in  life,  has  been  to  get  that  seat  back 
again.  At  last  this  wish  has  been  fulfilled,  and 
what  does  it  matter  after  all?"  I  once  heard  a  Presi 
dent  of  the  United  States  say:  "For  twenty  years  I  was 
a  candidate  for  President.  Every  four  years  Pennsyl 
vania  sent  a  delegation  to  the  National  Convention  to 
urge  my  nomination.  Every  four  years  we  came  away 
beaten  and  disappointed.  Finally,  when  I  had  given  it 
up,  when  it  had  ceased  to  be  an  object  of  ambition  or 
desire  with  me,  when  all  of  the  friends  I  loved  and 
wanted  to  reward  were  dead,  and  most  of  the  enemies 
I  hated  and  had  meant  to  punish  were  turned  my 
friends,  I  was  nominated  and  elected,  and  here  I  am,  an 
old  man,  full  of  trials  and  troubles,  with  scarcely  one 
joy  in  the  world." 

You  doubtless  remember  how  Webster  and  Clay,  at 
the  very  zenith  of  their  eminence  and  fame,  deplored 
their  entrance  into  public  life.  They  had,  to  the  un 
thinking  multitude,  achieved  the  greatest  success,  and 
were  in  possession  of  all  that  should  accompany  old 
age,  as  honor,  love,  obedience,  troops  of  friends;  but 
these  things  were  valueless  in  their  eyes.  Each  of  them 
had  set  his  heart  on  one  object,  the  White  House,  and, 
failing  of  that,  each  saw  himself  a  beaten  and  broken 


The  Compromises  of  Life 

old  man,  defeated  in  the  race  of  life  and  cheated  out  of 
something  he  had  brought  himself  to  believe  honestly 
belonged  to  him.  A  little  while  before  his  death,  Mr. 
George  D.  Prentice  said  to  me:  "If  Mr.  Clay  had  been 
elected  President  he  would  have  been  the  wretchedest 
man  that  ever  lived,  because  he  would  have  been  proved 
the  biggest  liar  that  ever  lived."  "How  was  that,  Mr. 
Prentice?"  I  asked.  "Why,  sir,"  the  old  journalist  re 
plied,  "Mr.  Clay  was  a  candidate,  an  aspirant  for  the 
Presidency,  during  nearly  thirty  years.  He  was  a 
warm,  impulsive  man,  with  a  genius  for  making  friends. 
Unconsciously  he  had  plastered  the  public  service  over 
three  plies  deep  with  promises,  real  or  implied — prom 
ises  which  could  not  by  any  possibility  be  discharged. 
He  was  an  honorable,  generous,  self-respecting  man,  and 
when  these  promises  came  to  maturity  and  were  pre 
sented  for  payment,  and  he  realized  the  situation,  it 
would  have  embittered  his  life  and  broken  his  heart." 
There  is  a  lesson,  and  a  true  one,  for  those  who  lament 
the  loss  of  that  which  they  cannot  get,  as  it  is  a  sermon 
against  the  overweening  desire  for  any  particular  thing. 
You  may  trust  me  when  I  say  I  am  so  far  sincere 
in  believing  self-repression  in  this  regard  true  wisdom, 
that  I  rather  think  the  young  fellow  who  is  very  much 
in  love  with  a  girl  and  finds  her  very  hard  to  get,  had 
better  let  her  go  and  seek  him  a  wife  elsewhere.  There 
must  be,  away  down  in  the  feminine  intuition,  some 
potent  reason  impelling  a  woman  to  fly  from  the  im- 
114 


Money  and  Morals 

portunities  of  a  lover,  and  when  at  last,  as  the  saying  is, 
she  marries  him  to  get  rid  of  him,  he  had  best  look  to  it. 

In  short,  and  in  fine,  my  argument  is  that  we  are 
constantly  setting  our  heart  and  hope  upon  the  posses 
sion  of  some  one  of  the  tangible  things  of  life,  as  office, 
or  money,  or  an  establishment,  or  a  wife,  thinking  fail 
ure  therein  failure  in  life,  and  success  therein  success  in 
life,  when,  if  we  could  know  the  truth  in  advance,  that 
is  the  very  object  from  which  we  should  start  back 
with  horror. 

Success  in  life  is  happiness.  The  successful  man, 
the  happy  man  is  the  man  who  believes  his  old  wife  the 
loveliest  woman  in  the  world,  the  vine-covered  cottage 
he  calls  his  home  the  dearest  spot  on  earth,  and  who 
wouldn't  swap  his  ragged,  red-headed,  freckled-face 
brats  for  the  best-looking  and  best-dressed  kids  of  the 
proudest  of  his  neighbors.  Men  in  their  places  are  the 
men  who  stand.  The  material,  the  tangible  things  of 
life,  essential  as  they  are  under  right  conditions  to  hap 
piness  and  comfort,  do  not,  of  themselves,  bring  happi 
ness  and  comfort.  Millions  of  money  will  not  save  a 
sensitive  man  from  the  tortures  of  a  sore  toe.  Infinite 
fame  will  not  save  a  proud  man  from  the  torments  of  a 
debt  he  is  unable  to  pay.  I  repeat  that  success  in  life 
is  happiness,  and  its  seat  is  in  the  heart  and  mind ;  not 
in  the  stomach  or  the  pocket. 

And  this  brings  me  to  what  I  was  saying  awhile  ago 
about  Canada  and  Mexico.  Let  us  recur  to  them,  or, 


The  Compromises  of  Life 

rather,  to  some  of  our  late  neighbors  and  friends  who 
have  found  those  countries  so  attractive  that  they  have 
gone  to  pay  them  indefinite  visits. 

Do  you  know  that  for  many  of  those  men  I  have 
a  sympathy  which  I  cannot  repress,  and  would  not  re 
press  if  I  could?  I  don't  believe  that  every  man  who 
has  come  short  of  his  accounts  is  necessarily  a  scoundrel. 
I  don't  believe  that  every  refugee  must  needs  be  a  thief 
at  heart.  I  believe  that  in  many  cases  there  was  no 
original  purpose  to  steal,  and,  in  many  other  cases,  if  all 
the  facts  could  be  got  at,  it  would  be  found  that  down 
to  the  very  hour  of  flight  there  was  an  honest  purpose, 
even  an  honest  effort,  to  repair  the  wrong  done  in  the 
heat  of  sanguine  expectation  or  the  recklessness  of  de 
spair.  In  cases  of  official  delinquency  how  often  the 
first  false  step  arose  from  the  official's  failure  to  keep 
his  public  and  private  accounts  separate  and  distinct. 
Of  a  sudden  he  discovers  a  discrepancy.  He  promises 
himself  to  make  this  good.  A  year  passes.  The  gap  is 
wider  still.  He  takes  a  risk.  This  fails,  of  course. 
Then  he  loses  his  head.  And  then  he  makes  the  fatal 
plunge,  and  down  he  goes  into  the  vortex. 

How  many  breaches  of  trust  begin  in  those  good  in 
tentions  with  which  that  very  hot  place  with  the  very 
short  name  is  supposed  to  be  paved.  Indeed,  the  gam 
bling  mania,  in  some  form  or  other,  seems  to  be  well- 
nigh  universal,  and  the  gambler  never  expects  to  lose. 
There  is  always  before  his  mind's  eye  the  mirage  of  that 
116 


Money  and  Morals 

capital  prize  in  the  lottery  of  life,  or  that  winning  hand 
in  the  game  of  his  choice.  Even  among  those  who 
habitually  play  for  money,  it  has  been  observed  that 
they  laugh  when  they  win  and  swear  when  they  lose, 
just  as  if  it  was  not  a  certainty,  when  they  sat  down  at 
table,  that  they  must  inevitably  either  do  the  one  thing 
or  the  other,  eliminating  from  the  proceeding  any  possi 
ble  surprise.  One  would  fancy  that  such  persons  ought 
to  be  more  stoical.  But  it  is  not  so.  Each  sitting  is  to 
them  as  though  it  were  their  last,  and,  as  no  man  delib 
erately  plays  to  lose,  he  is  correspondingly  angry  when 
he  fails  to  win.  But  what  a  fatal  mistake  is  made  by 
that  man  who  lays  his  hand  upon  a  dollar  he  cannot 
honestly  call  his  own. 

And  I  know  something  about  that  myself.  When 
I  was  a  lad  I  had  an  experience  which  has  lasted  me  a 
lifetime.  I  was  elected  by  my  schoolmates  one  of  the 
editors  of  the  periodical  of  our  literary  society,  and  by 
successive  re-elections,  term  after  term,  the  entire  man 
agement  of  that  ambitious  serial  at  length  came  into  my 
hands.  I  was  editor  and  managing  editor  and  secretary 
and  treasurer — a  bad  combination  wherever  it  is  found. 
Well,  one  day — of  course,  it  was  at  the  precise  moment 
when  I  was  required  to  make  my  official  report — it 
always  happens  so — I  discovered  that  I  lacked  four  dol 
lars  and  fifty  cents  of  money  enough  to  balance  my 
books.  I  must  either  get  that  money  or  falsify  those 
books.  Well,  I  did  not  have  the  money — I  had  spent 
117 


The  Compromises  of  Life 

it.  I  had  not  only  spent  it,  but  had  overdrawn  my  own 
private  account.  I  was  simply  aghast.  After  lying 
awake  a  whole  night  in  alternate  anguish  and  specula 
tion,  I  rose  in  the  morning  haggard  but  resolute.  I 
went  directly  to  the  guardian  angel  who  had  charge  of 
my  fiscal  affairs  and  made  a  clean  breast  of  it. 

"And  what  is  the  amount  of  this  defalcation?"  says 
he. 

"Four  dollars  and  fifty  cents,"  I  gasped. 

I  remember  to  this  day,  I  can  see  at  this  moment, 
the  half  queer,  half  threatening  expression  that  came 
over  those  kindly,  weather-bronzed  features  as,  hand 
ing  me  a  check,  he  said : 

"There,  my  boy;  there  are  five  dollars.  It  is  an 
ugly  piece  of  business.  Don't  let  it  ever  happen  again." 

And  it  never  has. 

Among  those  persons  who  appropriate  to  their  own 
use  money  that  does  not  belong  to  them,  seeking  those 
dark-alley  short-cuts  to  fortune  that  end  in  disgrace,  it 
has  always  seemed  to  me  that  they  are  the  worst  who 
masquerade  as  pillars  of  the  church  or  pose  as  models  of 
commercial  integrity  and  virtue.  Such  a  man  not  only 
robs  those  who  have  trusted  him  and  believed  in  him, 
adding  hypocrisy  to  felony,  but  he  commits  an  even 
greater  moral  crime  by  the  shock  he  inflicts  upon  our 
common  faith  in  human  nature. 

I  recall  a  curious  episode  of  this  kind  which  happened 
a  few  years  ago  in  the  directory  of  a  bank  in  one  of  our 
118 


Money  and  Morals 

great  cities.  A  certain  member  of  the  board  was  found 
to  have  duplicated  warehouse  receipts  to  a  considerable 
amount  borrowed  of  the  bank  on  those  collaterals.  His 
friends  raised  the  money,  paid  the  notes,  and  the  matter 
was  hushed  up.  Not,  however,  without  the  earnest 
protest  of  two  of  the  delinquent's  colleagues,  who 
thought,  or  who  said  they  thought,  it  compromising 
with  crime — that  it  was  not  fair — to  allow  such  a 
scamp  to  be  turned  loose  on  an  unsuspecting  community. 
Finally,  however,  their  moral  susceptibility  yielded  to 
entreaty  and  they  acquiesced  in  the  concealment.  Less 
than  a  year  later  one  of  these  gentlemen  fled  to  Mexico, 
leaving  behind  him  a  hundred  thousand  dollars'  worth 
of  duplicated  warehouse  receipts.  His  surviving  part 
ner  in  morality  was  indignant  beyond  expression.  He 
went  about  wringing  his  hands,  rolling  his  eyes  and 
stigmatizing  the  villany  right  and  left.  Six  months 
later  this  gentleman's  turn  came  round.  He  ran  away 
to  Canada,  leaving  behind  him  half  a  million  of  money 
raised  on  bogus  security.  And,  now  what  do  you  sup 
pose  came  to  pass?  Why,  the  original  sinner — the 
man  who,  though  so  vehemently  denounced,  had  been 
saved  by  the  generosity  of  his  friends  and  the  silence  of 
the  bank — once  more  a  prosperous  merchant — actually 
served  as  foreman  of  the  grand  jury  that  indicted  the 
other  two ! 

Hypocrisy,  we  are  told  by  the  witty  Frenchman,  is 
the  homage  vice  pays  to  virtue.     It  is  also  the  mask 
119 


The  Compromises  of  Life 

behind  whose  smug  features  pretended  virtue  seeks  to 
work  off  her  self-righteous  shams.  Nor  is  it  an  exclu 
sive  possession  of  the  criminal  classes.  We  encounter 
it  in  the  best  society,  setting  up  for  a  lady  of  fashion ; 
in  the  church,  setting  up  for  a  philanthropist;  in  the 
Board  of  Trade,  setting  up  for  a  most  enterprising 
patriot.  Which  of  us  has  not  had  his  ringers  burned 
by  corner  lots  bought  in  cities  that  never  were  and 
never  will  be  in  the  name  of  development  and  public 
spirit,  to  find  no  relief  in  watered  stock,  no  matter  how 
coolly  and  copiously  that  may  have  been  applied? 
Which  of  us  does  not  recall  the  obliging  friend,  who, 
if  it  is  any  accommodation  to  us,  will  let  us  in  upon 
the  ground-floor  of  a  financial  edifice,  having  three  or 
four  cellars  beneath  it,  and  laid,  at  bottom,  in  a  cave 
of  winds  ?  Which  of  us  has  not  his  hard-luck  story  to 
tell  of  the  neighbor,  having  an  infinite  deal  of  horse- 
sense  and  an  illimitable  knowledge  of  horse-flesh,  with 
his  inevitable  "tip"  as  to  the  "sure  winner"  in  the  com 
ing  race? 

But,  and  more's  the  pity,  there  be  hypocrisy  and 
hypocrisy.  There  is  a  kind  of  hypocrisy  that  goes 
maundering  through  the  world  mistaking  itself  for 
virtue  and  never  finding  itself  out.  And  then  there 
is  a  hypocrisy  that  springs  rather  from  cowardice  than 
fraud,  and  that  is  to  be  pitied.  How  many  a  man  has 
lied  to  save  appearances,  who  might  as  well  have  told 
the  truth  and  gone  about  his  business.  The  only  hon- 
120 


Money  and  Morals 

est  hypocrites,  Hazlitt  reminds  us,  are  the  play-actors 
who  change  their  characters  with  every  performance, 
wearing  the  robes  of  a  king  to-day,  and  the  rags  of  a 
beggar  to-morrow.  Nay,  the  woods  are  full  of  hypo 
crites,  unconscious  hardly  less  than  conscious;  pious 
hypocrites,  who  deceive  themselves  more  than  they  de 
ceive  anybody  else,  to  end  at  last  in  the  ditch ;  bullying 
hypocrites,  who,  like  poor  Acres,  really  fancy  they  can 
fight,  until  brought  to  shame  by  their  own  folly.  In 
the  great  Credit  Mobilier  scandals  it  was  not  so  much 
the  ownership  of  stock  that  brought  the  disgraces,  as 
the  denial  of  it. 

Each  age  has  its  idiosyncrasy.  We  speak  of  the 
golden  age,  of  the  iron  age,  and  so  forth.  Each  coun 
try  has  its  virtues  and  its  vices ;  its  crown  of  glory  and 
its  crown  of  thorns.  Find  out  a  nation's  sin  and  you 
shall  know  that  nation's  danger.  As  for  ourselves,  we 
should  be  most  concerned  for  our  own.  Never  mind 
about  Europe,  about  Asia,  about  Africa,  what  is  the 
matter  with  America?  That  is  the  question  for  us  to 
ponder  unceasingly,  to  investigate  with  an  enlightened 
self-accusing  sense  of  justice  without  fear  or  favor, 
seeking  to  decide  it  fairly. 

What,  then,  is  the  trouble  with  us?  Is  it  the 
failure  of  our  municipal  methods  and  processes  to 
give  efficient  and  good  government  to  our  great  cities? 
That  is  a  menace  to  our  centres  of  population. 
But  I  hardly  think  it  far-reaching  enough  to  bode  na- 
121 


The  Compromises  of  Life 

tional  ruin.  Is  it  the  race  question  at  the  South? 
That,  too,  is  a  great  peril  to  the  people  who  live  there. 
It  is  a  problem,  the  solution  of  which  the  wisest  have 
not  been  able  to  compass ;  the  end  of  which  the  most  sa 
gacious  cannot  see.  I  know  so  much  about  it  that  I  long 
ago  ceased  to  theorize  at  all.  My  hope  and  faith  are 
embarked  in  one  direction  only;  in  a  process  of  evolu 
tion  involving  the  elevation  and  education  of  both 
races ;  and  in  a  simple,  childlike  trust  in  God,  who  can 
raise  up  as  He  has  cast  down,  and  who  doeth  all  things 
well.  Is  it  the  labor  question,  the  social  question,  the 
question  of  free  and  fair  elections?  I  think  not  so 
organically.  In  a  democratic  republic,  where  all  things 
are  open  to  all  men,  there  can  never  be  any  general 
motive  or  occasion  for  a  resort  to  combustible  agencies 
and  revolutionary  expedients.  Left  to  the  operation  of 
our  electoral  and  representative  machinery,  those  ques 
tions  ought  in  time  to  settle  themselves.  We  are  not 
shut  in  by  feudal  bonds  and  tenures,  the  bursting  of 
which  means  blood  and  terror.  We  are  not  the  slaves 
of  custom,  bound  to  class  distinction  and  artificial  con 
vention,  which,  growing  obsolete,  can  only  be  annihi 
lated  by  dynamite  in  the  hands  of  anarchy.  The  poor 
est  babe  that  steals  timidly  and  unnoticed  into  the  world 
by  the  back  door  has  the  same  chance  of  becoming  Presi 
dent  of  the  United  States  with  the  richest  that  ever 
shook  its  tiny  fists  at  the  announcing  heralds,  or  pulled 
the  whiskers  of  its  millionaire  paternity.  Agrarianism 
122 


Money  and  Morals 

has  no  place  here.  Against  the  pick-axe  of  the  leveller 
and  the  brand  of  the  incendiary  we  may  safely  leave 
the  result,  under  God,  with  the  noiseless  snowfall  of 
ballots,  which  soon  or  late  will  swallow  up  the  political 
organism  that  is  persistently  and  consciously  faithless  to 
its  duty. 

Someone  may  be  disposed  to  ask  me  whether  the 
greatest  evil  that  threatens  us  is  not  the  tariff?  Well, 
my  friends,  that  old  sinner  has  been  sinning  a  long  time, 
I  do  admit;  and  he  is  a  very  tough  and  a  very  smooth 
citizen,  into  the  bargain.  He  has  grown  very  rich  and 
very  proud,  and  wears  a  mighty  ruffle  to  his  shirt,  and 
a  great  watch-fob  dangling  by  his  capacious  stomach. 
He  makes  himself  exceedingly  active  and  aggravating 
about  election  time,  and  is  at  all  times  more  or  less  self- 
complacent  and  boastful,  blind  of  one  eye  and  deaf  in 
one  ear,  though  seeing  more  and  hearing  more  than  is 
good  for  anybody  to  see  and  hear,  because  half  of  what 
he  knows  is  not  true,  while,  as  to  the  other  half,  it  were 
best  forgotten.  But  I  do  not  despair  even  of  our  dear, 
delightful,  audacious  old  friend,  High  Tariff.  He  has 
had  a  good  deal  of  fat  fried  out  of  him  latterly,  and  is 
not  nearly  so  stout  as  he  was.  I  know  what  I  am  talk 
ing  about  when  I  tell  you  that  he  has  recently  been 
caught  taking  more  than  one  furtive  look  into  the  sweet 
face  of  that  star-eyed  divinity,  who  has,  from  the  first, 
stretched  out  her  hands  to  save,  and  not  to  hurt,  him, 
and  I  have  thought  I  observed  upon  those  stern,  iron- 
123 


The  Compromises  of  Life 

clad  features  of  his  a  certain  pleased  expression,  if  not 
an  actual  smirk.  No,  no ;  I  am  not  in  the  least  afraid 
of  the  tariff.  That  will  come  round  all  right;  and, 
meanwhile,  no  matter  how  high  you  build  it,  I  can  live 
under  it  and  enjoy  myself  as  long  and  as  much  as  the 
rest  can. 

Indeed,  I  am  afraid  of  no  single  political  issue  at  this 
moment  parcelling  the  people  out  on  the  right  and  on 
the  left  within  party  lines.  Speaking  as  a  philosopher, 
and  in  a  historic  spirit,  the  entire  present  stock  in  trade 
of  both  our  parties,  of  all  our  parties,  makes  up  the  sum 
of  what  I  call  rather  small  politics.  There  has  never 
been  a  time  in  the  history  of  the  country  where  there 
was  less  cause  for  apprehension  from  the  drift  and  tenor 
of  current  partisan  contention.  The  differences  that 
disturb  us  are  trifles  as  light  as  air,  compared  with  the 
dangers  and  difficulties  which  distressed  our  grand 
fathers,  our  fathers,  and  those  of  us  who  are  old  enough 
to  remember  times  that  did,  indeed,  "try  men's  souls." 

I  have,  in  my  own  day,  seen  the  republic  outlast  an 
irrepressible  conflict  sown  in  the  blood  and  marrow  of 
the  social  order.  I  have  seen  the  Federal  Union,  not 
too  strongly  put  together  in  the  first  place,  come  out  of 
a  great  war  of  sections  stronger  than  when  it  went  into 
it,  its  faith  renewed,  its  credit  rehabilitated,  and  its 
flag  flying  in  triumph  and  honor  over  sixty  millions  of 
God-fearing  men  and  women,  thoroughly  reconciled 
and  homogeneous.  I  have  seen  the  Constitution  of  the 
124 


Money  and  Morals 

United  States  survive  the  strain,  not  merely  of  a  recon- 
structory  ordeal  and  a  Presidential  impeachment,  but 
of  a  disputed  count  of  the  electoral  vote,  a  Congres 
sional  deadlock,  and  an  extra  constitutional  tribunal, 
yet,  standing  as  firm  as  a  rock  against  the  assaults  of 
its  enemies,  yielding  itself  with  admirable  flexibility  to 
the  needs  of  the  country  and  the  time.  And,  finally,  I 
saw  the  gigantic  fabric  of  the  Federal  Government 
transferred  from  hands  that  had  held  it  for  a  quarter 
of  .a  century  to  other  hands  without  so  much  as  a  pro 
test  or  a  bloody  nose,  though  the  fight  at  the  finish  had 
been  so  close  a  single  blanket  might  have  covered  both 
contestants  for  the  Chief  Magisterial  office.  He  who 
has  seen  these  things,  who  has  borne  his  part  in  the 
awful  responsibilities  pressing  from  day  to  day  on  all 
men,  bringing  with  each  night  a  terror  with  every 
thought  of  the  morrow,  is  not  going  to  lose  much  sleep 
about  what  is  now  going  on  at  Washington,  or  whether 
Bill  Jones's  pension  is  increased  a  dollar  or  a  dollar 
and  a  half  a  week,  or  the  duty  on  slip-ups  is  altered 
from  forty-two  specific  to  thirty-seven  and  one-half  ad 
valorem.  Certainly,  we  want  to  be  frugal  in  our  ex 
penditures,  just  in  our  appropriations,  and  otherwise 
careful  of  the  people's  money.  We  want  to  go  slow  in 
the  matter  of  new  legislation  and  innovations  of  every 
sort.  But  parties  are  too  evenly  balanced,  and  the 
issues  that  divide  them  arise  too  much  out  of  questions 
of  mere  expediency,  or  local,  or  selfish,  or  party  interest 
125 


The  Compromises  of  Life 

to  excite  any  man  unduly  unless  he  wants  an  office,  and 
wants  it  bad. 

The  history  of  a  hundred  years  of  Constitutional 
Government  in  America — the  story  and  the  moral  les 
son  of  all  our  parties — may  be  summed  up  in  a  single 
sentence:  That  when  any  political  society  in  this  coun 
try  thinks  it  has  the  world  in  a  sling,  public  opinion 
just  rears  back  upon  its  hind  legs  and  kicks  it  out.  The 
real  danger  before  us — a  danger  having  its  sources 
deeply  laid  in  the  roots  of  human  nature — peculiarly 
fostered  by  our  peculiar  structure — the  Damocles  sword 
perpetually  hanging  above  us — is  a  moral  danger,  and 
it  springs  directly  from  the  relation  of  money  to  the 
moral  nature  of  the  people. 

We  have  no  great  aristocratic  titles,  or  patents  of 
nobility;  and  the  simplest  standard  is  the  money  stand 
ard.  "Put  money  in  thy  purse"  seems  to  have  become 
a  national  motto.  If  this  limited  itself  to  fiscal,  or 
even  commercial,  pursuits,  it  might  not  be  so  bad.  But 
we  find  it  everywhere.  From  the  ten-thousand-a-year 
pulpit  to  the  hundred-thousand-dollar  seat  in  the  Sen 
ate  of  the  United  States,  the  trail  of  the  trade-mark  is 
over  us  all.  I  remember  some  doggerel  verses  which 
went  the  rounds  of  the  newspapers  when  I  was  a  boy, 
and,  though  I  have  not  seen  them  in  print  from  that 
day  to  this,  I  can  still  recall  a  few  of  them.  They  had 
some  relevancy  then;  how  much  greater  their  applica 
tion  now.  They  rattled  off  somewhat  in  this  wise : 
126 


Money  and  Morals 

"As  with  cautious  step  we  tread  our  way  through 
This  intricate  world  as  other  folks  do, 
May  we  each  on  his  journey  be  able  to  view 
The  benevolent  face  of  a  dollar  or  two ; 
The  gospel  is  preached 
For  a  dollar  or  two; 
Salvation  is  reached 

For  a  dollar  or  two ; 
You  may  sin  sometimes, 
But  the  worst  of  all  crimes 
Is  to  find  yourself  short 
Of  a  dollar  or  two !" 

And  so  on  for  quantity.  But  how  true  it  was  and  it 
is !  How  ready  we  are  to  forgive  the  sins  of  the  rich, 
to  forget  how  they  got  their  money,  to  stick  our  feet 
under  their  mahogany,  to  eat  of  their  food  and  drink  of 
their  wine !  How  little  of  the  old,  primitive  morality,  <f^ 
with  its  fine  distinction  of  right  and  wrong,  remains  to 
our  great  cities!  What  a  struggle  it  is  to  get  money 
for  money's  sake  alone.  Money,  money,  nothing  but 
money!  When  old  Agassiz  was  offered  a  thousand 
dollars  a  lecture  for  a  hundred  consecutive  lectures,  and 
turned  away  from  the  tempter,  saying:  "Oh,  go  along 
with  you !  What  time  have  I  to  waste  on  money-mak 
ing,"  there  were  those  who  thought  he  was  bereft  of  his 
senses.  Would  to  God  we  had  an  Agassiz  or  two  in 
every  community  throughout  this  land!  But  honor 
able  poverty  seems  to  have  become  one  of  the  lost  arts. 
Fame  without  money  is  left  to  second-rate  aspirants. 
The  genius  of  the  country  is  no  longer  engaged  upon 
127 


The  Compromises  of  Life 

works  of  patriotic  devotion,  on  works  of  the  imagina 
tion,  on  works  of  humble  piety.  It  is  engaged  in  busi 
ness,  in  commerce,  in  constructive  enterprises,  in  devel 
opment  in  money-making.  The  young  fellow  with  a 
head  on  his  shoulders  and  a  heart  in  his  bosom  turns  his 
back  upon  public  life,  and  takes  to  that  which  pays 
surest  and  best  cash  in  hand.  "I  cannot,"  he  says  to 
himself,  "afford  to  surrender  freedom  and  affluence  at 
home  to  take  poverty  and  slavery  at  Washington,  to  go 
to  Congress  for  five  thousand  a  year,  when  I  can  make 
five-and-twenty  in  an  office  which  costs  me  nothing  to 
get  and  to  keep,  and  of  which  I  am  master.  I  will 
make  my  fortune  first,  and  then,  if  I  have  a  mind  to,  I 
can  buy  me  a  seat  in  the  Senate  of  the  United  States." 
Sensible  man,  perhaps,  though,  at  this  rate,  how  long 
shall  it  be  before  we  have  crushed  all  generous  man 
hood  beneath  this  hard,  metallic  load  and  come  out  of 
the  struggle  for  wealth  a  nation  of  the  merest  money 
changers?  It  is  certain  that  we  can  carry  none  of  it 
with  us  when  we  go  hence ;  and,  when  we  are  required 
by  the  Master  to  give  an  account  of  our  stewardship, 
what  shall  it  profit  us  if  we  point  to  our  hoarded 
millions  and  exclaim,  "There,  dear  Lord"?  Believe 
me,  there  is  more  happiness  to  be  got  of  the  coining  of 
one  kind  thought  in  this  world,  and  at  the  same  time  a 
surer  correspondence  with  the  world  to  come,  than  may 
be  extracted  from  a  mint  of  money. 

I  am  far  from  believing  that  the  happiest  people  are 
128 


Money  and  Morals 

the  poorest.  But  no  more  are  the  richest.  The  dolor 
of  the  one  and  the  ennui  of  the  other  have  passed 
into  a  proverb.  Yet  there  is  no  country  in  the 
world  quite  so  happy,  and  yet  relatively  quite  so 
poor,  as  Switzerland.  There,  and  I  am  afraid  there 
only,  shall  we  find  the  ideal  Jeffersonian  Democracy. 
The  government  is  simple  and  frugal.  The  officials 
are  paid  barely  their  living,  and  elections  being  annual, 
there  is  no  motive  for  corruption.  They  are  held,  in 
fact,  in  the  churches,  and  on  Sunday.  One  of  the 
greatest  of  modern  Swiss  statesmen,  a  man  who  had 
been  many  times  President  of  the  republic,  died  in  a 
dingy  little  apartment  at  Berne,  and  after  his  death  it 
was  discovered  that,  to  obtain  the  needful  medicines  and 
comforts  during  his  last  illness,  he  had  pawned  a  service 
of  silver,  presented  him  by  the  government  of  the 
United  States  for  his  invaluable  counsels  as  our  referee 
at  the  Geneva  Conference.  There  was  a  brave,  a  pure, 
and  a  poor  man  for  you ;  one  who  scorned  to  beg  as  he 
would  have  scorned  to  steal,  going  confidently  to  his 
God  without  so  much  as  a  franc  to  pay  Charon  his  fer 
riage  across  the  stream. 

Diogenes,  seeking  an  honest  man,  might  in  the  his 
tory  of  the  Irish  Union  come  up  with  a  parallel  case  in 
poor  old  Hussey  Bergh,  who  refused  all  the  gold  that 
England  could  offer  him,  abandoned  the  borough  of 
Kilmainham,  for  which  he  sat,  and  which  the  British 
Ministry  guaranteed  him  for  life,  voted  against  the  bill 
129 


The  Compromises  of  Life 

which  robbed  his  country  of  its  freedom,  and  was  found 
dead  in  his  bed,  with  sixpence  on  the  mantel  and  a 
paper  on  which  was  scrawled:  "Ireland  forever  and  be 
damn'd  to  Kilmainham !" 

They  don't  do  political  business  that  way  nowadays, 
except  in  that  Alpine  fortalice  of  freedom  and  virtue,  of 
which  I  was  speaking.  The  humble  Switzer,  in  his 
chalet  by  the  mountain  side,  with  barely  enough  to  sus 
tain  life,  and  not  a  sou  to  spare,  is  the  happiest  man  in 
the  world.  There  is  no  country  on  earth  which  illus 
trates  so  vividly  the  truth  of  Goldsmith's  inspired 
couplet — 

"111  fares  the  land,  to  hastening  ills  a  prey, 
Where  wealth  accumulates,  and  men  decay," 

for  Switzerland  is  no  richer  now  than  it  was  five  hun 
dred  years  ago,  while  the  men  who  in  1870  mustered 
on  the  Swiss  frontier  to  warn  off  the  warring  French 
and  Germans  from  the  desecration  of  Swiss  soil  were  as 
rugged  and  as  valiant  as  the  men  who  followed  Rudolph 
von  Erlach  across  the  German  border  to  victory  and  in 
dependence,  and  rallied  by  the  side  of  Arnold  von  Win- 
kelred,  at  Sempach,  against  the  combined  hordes  of 
Burgundy  and  Austria,  away  back  when  the  world  was 
putting  on  its  jack-boots  and  the  centuries  but  begin 
ning  their  teens.  I  stand  with  head  uncovered,  rever 
ently,  in  the  presence  of  these  poor,  proud,  and  brave 
mountaineers ;  and  have  sometimes  thought  that,  if  ever 
130 


Money  and  Morals 


I  should  become  an  exile  from  my  own  country,  there 
is  the  one  spot  in  the  world  where  I  might  live  with 
some  sort  of  happiness  and  contentment. 

But  enough  of  this.  To  come  back  to  our  own  time 
and  country,  let  us  cast  about  us  and  see  where  we 
stand ;  let  us  sum  up  the  case,  as  it  were,  and,  consider 
ing  the  point  from  which  we  started,  let  us  take  counsel 
of  the  past  and  the  present,  and,  by  the  light  thus  sup 
plied,  let  us  try  and  look  into  the  future. 

With  the  money  standards  so  high  and  the  moral 
standards  so  low,  the  pessimist  may  not  unreasonably 
ask  what  hope  for  us  there  is  in  the  outlook.  There  is 
much  hope  in  spite  of  all  that  has  been  said,  and  all  that 
may  be  said,  as  to  the  darker  side  of  the  picture.  That 
hope  lies  in  the  better  development  of  the  national  char 
acter  and  in  the  more  complete  realization  of  the  ideals 
embraced  by  our  national  institutions. 

I  have  always  believed  in  the  power,  and  in  the  ulti 
mate  triumph,  of  moral  forces  and  organized  ideas,  and 
shall  never  surrender  that  belief  to  the  claim  that  there  / 
is  more  of  bad  than  of  good  in  human  nature.  I  am 
something  of  a  Methodist  in  the  conceit  that,  under  the 
benign  influence  of  intelligence  and  morality,  we  are 
perpetually  and  steadily  going  on  from  grace  to  grace 
toward  perfection,  and,  though  we  may  not  reach  the 
halcyon  days  predicted,  I  believe,  to  come  in  the  twen 
tieth  century,  by  a  recent  fable — at  least,  not  until  we 
have  reached  the  millennium  promised  us  by  an  older 


The  Compromises  of  Life 

great  speeches  which  Shakespeare  has  put  into  the 
mouths  of  his  heroes  none  seems  to  me  to  bear  with  it 
so  much  wisdom  and  comfort  as  the  words  addressed 
by  Wolsey  to  the  one  lone  follower  who  survived 
his  fall: 

"Cromwell,  I  charge  thee,  fling  away  ambition. 
By  that  sin  fell  the  angels ;  how  then  can  man, 
The  image  of  his  Maker,  hope  to  win  by  it? 
Love  thyself  last;  cherish  those  hearts  that  hate  thee; 
Corruption  wins  not  more  than  honesty ; 
Still  in  thy  right  hand  carry  gentle  peace 
To  silence  envious  tongues ;  be  just  and  fear  not ; 
Let  all  the  ends  thou  aimest  at  be  thy  country's, 
Thy  God's  and  truth's;  then  if  fallest  thou,  O  Crom 
well! 
Thou  fallest  a  blessed  martyr !" 

There  is  an  epitome  of  all  the  world  has  to  give  and 
to  take  away,  done  by  one  who  had  trod  every  path  of 
glory,  and  sounded  all  the  depths  of  honor,  to  find, 
wrhen  it  was  too  late,  how  weak  is  the  strength 
of  pride,  how  poor,  how  ignoble  the  power  of 
money.  We  must  cast  forth  the  devil  of  party  spirit, 
and  kill  the  Money  Devil  outright,  if  we  are  to  reach 
the  summit  of  our  destiny.  The  statesmanship  which 
is  to  lead  us  thither  must  address  itself  somewhat  more 
to  the  moral  nature  of  the  people ;  it  must  seek,  indeed, 
to  unite  tradition  and  progress,  going  forward  at  all 
times,  but  never  forgetting  the  humble  homespun 
sources  of  our  being  as  a  nation  and  as  a  people. 
134 


Money  and  Morals 

If  I  were  delivering  a  sermon  to  the  people  of  New 
England  I  would  say  to  them :  "Because  you  have  struck 
these  rocks  with  the  force  of  a  genius  and  a  virtue 
which  nobody  denies,  and  made  them  to  blossom  like 
the  rose,  don't  imagine  that  there  is  no  other  genius, 
no  other  virtue  in  the  world.  Go  down  South  and 
bathe  in  the  sunshine  you  shall  find  there!  Soften 
some  of  the  harder  fibres!  Lop  off  some  of  the  brittle 
edges!  Take  a  lesson,  or  two,  from  the  old-time 
planter's  simplicity,  honor,  and  truth.  You  will  feel 
the  better  and  be  the  better  for  doing  so."  And,  if 
I  were  delivering  a  sermon  to  those  same  planters  of 
the  South,  I  would  say  to  them:  "Gentlemen,  all  this 
clinging  to  a  personal  and  social  superiority,  which 
does  not  exist,  is  sheer  folly  and  pride.  The  Yankees 
are  just  as  good  as  you  are,  and  in  many  things  they 
know  a  great  deal  better  than  you  do  how  to  get  on  in 
the  world.  Take  a  turn  among  them.  Look  into  their 
domestic  economies,  rejecting  nothing  on  account  of  its 
trade-mark.  Send  some  of  your  boys  up  there  to  school 
and  let  them  learn  how  to  work  for  a  living.  In  many 
cases,  it  will  be  merely  a  revisitation  of  the  home  of 
their  forefathers,  for  many  of  the  greatest  families  of  the 
South  trace  back  their  origin  to  the  blood  and  loins  of 
the  Pilgrim  Fathers." 

Thus  would  I  revitalize  and  blend  the  good  that  is 
in  one  section  with  the  good  that  is  in  the  other  section, 
bringing  both  to  a  better  comprehension  of  the  truth 
J35 


The  Compromises  of  Life 

great  speeches  which  Shakespeare  has  put  into  the 
mouths  of  his  heroes  none  seems  to  me  to  bear  with  it 
so  much  wisdom  and  comfort  as  the  words  addressed 
by  Wolsey  to  the  one  lone  follower  who  survived 
his  fall: 

"Cromwell,  I  charge  thee,  fling  away  ambition. 
By  that  sin  fell  the  angels ;  how  then  can  man, 
The  image  of  his  Maker,  hope  to  win  by  it? 
Love  thyself  last ;  cherish  those  hearts  that  hate  thee ; 
Corruption  wins  not  more  than  honesty ; 
Still  in  thy  right  hand  carry  gentle  peace 
To  silence  envious  tongues;  be  just  and  fear  not; 
Let  all  the  ends  thou  aimest  at  be  thy  country's, 
Thy  God's  and  truth's;  then  if  fallest  thou,  O  Crom 
well! 
Thou  fallest  a  blessed  martyr !" 

There  is  an  epitome  of  all  the  world  has  to  give  and 
to  take  away,  done  by  one  who  had  trod  every  path  of 
glory,  and  sounded  all  the  depths  of  honor,  to  find, 
when  it  was  too  late,  how  weak  is  the  strength 
of  pride,  how  poor,  how  ignoble  the  power  of 
money.  We  must  cast  forth  the  devil  of  party  spirit, 
and  kill  the  Money  Devil  outright,  if  we  are  to  reach 
the  summit  of  our  destiny.  The  statesmanship  which 
is  to  lead  us  thither  must  address  itself  somewhat  more 
to  the  moral  nature  of  the  people ;  it  must  seek,  indeed, 
to  unite  tradition  and  progress,  going  forward  at  all 
times,  but  never  forgetting  the  humble  homespun 
sources  of  our  being  as  a  nation  and  as  a  people. 
134 


Money  and  Morals 

If  I  were  delivering  a  sermon  to  the  people  of  New 
England  I  would  say  to  them:  "Because  you  have  struck 
these  rocks  with  the  force  of  a  genius  and  a  virtue 
which  nobody  denies,  and  made  them  to  blossom  like 
the  rose,  don't  imagine  that  there  is  no  other  genius, 
no  other  virtue  in  the  world.  Go  down  South  and 
bathe  in  the  sunshine  you  shall  find  there!  Soften 
some  of  the  harder  fibres !  Lop  off  some  of  the  brittle 
edges!  Take  a  lesson,  or  two,  from  the  old-time 
planter's  simplicity,  honor,  and  truth.  You  will  feel 
the  better  and  be  the  better  for  doing  so."  And,  if 
I  were  delivering  a  sermon  to  those  same  planters  of 
the  South,  I  would  say  to  them:  "Gentlemen,  all  this 
clinging  to  a  personal  and  social  superiority,  which 
does  not  exist,  is  sheer  folly  and  pride.  The  Yankees 
are  just  as  good  as  you  are,  and  in  many  things  they 
know  a  great  deal  better  than  you  do  how  to  get  on  in 
the  world.  Take  a  turn  among  them.  Look  into  their 
domestic  economies,  rejecting  nothing  on  account  of  its 
trade-mark.  Send  some  of  your  boys  up  there  to  school 
and  let  them  learn  how  to  work  for  a  living.  In  many 
cases,  it  will  be  merely  a  revisitation  of  the  home  of 
their  forefathers,  for  many  of  the  greatest  families  of  the 
South  trace  back  their  origin  to  the  blood  and  loins  of 
the  Pilgrim  Fathers." 

Thus  would  I  revitalize  and  blend  the  good  that  is 
in  one  section  with  the  good  that  is  in  the  other  section, 
bringing  both  to  a  better  comprehension  of  the  truth 
135 


The  Compromises  of  Life 

that  we  are  the  most  homogeneous  people  on  the  face  of 
the  globe,  differing  in  nothing  except  in  external  char 
acteristics  and  local  habits ;  and  thus  would  I  lure  our 
great  Republic  away  from  the  pitfalls  that  engulfed  old 
Rome,  and  plant  it  anew  upon  the  sure  foundations  of 
morality  and  manhood,  the  only  genuine  sources  of  a 
nation's  wealth. 

And  now,  my  friends,  I  am  done.  I  have  said 
my  say.  I  entreat  you  to  take  these  things  in 
heart  and  mind,  believing  them  the  honest  emana 
tions  of  one  who  has  travelled  far  and  wide  in  this 
great  land  of  ours.  I  have  been  in  every  State  and 
Territory  of  the  Union,  and  have  yet  to  go  away  from 
one  of  them  where  I  had  not  found  something  to  make 
me  proud  of  my  country.  And  when  you  go  hence  to 
night,  whatever  else  you  may  be  proud  of,  be  proudest 
of  all  that  each  and  every  one  of  us  is  an  American 
citizen.  All  of  us  may  not  sit  in  the  high  places. 
All  of  us  may  not  get  the  capital  prizes.  But 
there  is  no  one  among  us,  however  lowly  his  lot,  who 
cannot  be  happy — a  better  citizen  and  a  more  prosper 
ous  man  because  he  is  happy — loving  work  for  work's 
sake  and  his  own  work  for  its  own  sake — and  along  the 
entire  journey  from  the  cradle  to  the  grave,  rinding — 

"Tongues  in  trees,  books  in  the  running  brooks. 
Sermons  in  stones,  and  good  in  everything." 


136 


ABRAHAM    LINCOLN* 

The  statesmen  in  knee-breeches  and  powdered  wigs 
who  signed  the  Declaration  of  Independence  and 
framed  the  Constitution — the  soldiers  in  blue-and-buff, 
top-boots,  and  epaulets  who  led  the  armies  of  the  Revo 
lution — were  what  we  are  wont  to  describe  as  gentle 
men.  They  were  English  gentlemen.  They  were  not 
all,  nor  even  generally,  scions  of  the  British  aristocracy ; 
but  they  came,  for  the  most  part,  of  good  Anglo-Saxon 
and  Scotch-Irish  stock. 

The  shoe-buckle  and  the  ruffled  shirt  worked  a  spell 
peculiarly  their  own.  They  carried  with  them  an  air 
of  polish  and  authority.  Hamilton,  though  of  obscure 
birth  and  small  stature,  is  represented  by  those  who 
knew  him  to  have  been  dignity  and  grace  personified ; 
and  old  Ben  Franklin,  even  in  woollen  hose,  and  none 
too  courtier-like,  was  the  delight  of  the  great  nobles 
and  fine  ladies,  in  whose  company  he  made  himself  as 
much  at  home  as  though  he  had  been  born  a  marquis. 

When  we  revert  to  that  epoch  the  beauty  of  the  scene 
which  history  unfolds  is  marred  by  little  that  is  un- 

*  Lincoln  Union,  Auditorium,  Chicago,  February  12,  1895. 
137 


The  Compromises  of  Life 

couth,  by  nothing  that  is  grotesque.  The  long  proces 
sion  passes,  and  we  see  in  each  group,  in  every  figure, 
something  of  heroic  proportion.  John  Adams  and 
John  Hancock,  Joseph  Warren  and  Samuel  Adams, 
the  Livingstons  in  New  York,  the  Carrolls  in  Mary 
land,  the  Masons,  the  Randolphs,  and  the  Pendletons 
in  Virginia,  the  Rutledges  in  South  Carolina — what 
pride  of  caste,  what  elegance  of  manner,  what  dignity 
and  dominancy  of  character!  And  the  soldiers! 
Israel  Putnam  and  Nathanael  Greene,  Ethan  Allen 
and  John  Stark,  Mad  Anthony  Wayne  and  Light 
Horse  Harry  Lee,  and  Morgan  and  Marion  and  Sum- 
ter,  gathered  about  the  immortal  Washington — Puri 
tan  and  Cavalier  so  mixed  and  blended  as  to  be  indis 
tinguishable  the  one  from  the  other — where  shall  we 
go  to  seek  a  more  resplendent  galaxy  of  field-marshals? 
Surely  not  to  Blenheim,  drinking  beakers  to  Marlbor- 
ough  after  the  famous  victory;  nor  yet  to  the  silken 
marquet  of  the  great  Conde  on  the  Rhine,  bedizened 
with  gold  lace  and  radiant  with  the  flower  of  the  no 
bility  of  France!  Ah,  me!  there  were  gentlemen  in 
those  days ;  and  they  made  their  influence  felt  upon  life 
and  thought  long  after  the  echoes  of  Bunker  Hill  and 
Yorktown  had  faded  away,  long  after  the  bell  over 
Independence  Hall  had  ceased  to  ring. 

The  first  half  of  the  Republic's  first  half-century  of 
existence  the  public  men  of  America,  distinguished  for 
many  things,  were  chiefly  and  almost  universally  dis- 
138 


Abraham  Lincoln 

tinguished  for  repose  of  bearing  and  sobriety  of  be 
havior.  It  was  not  until  the  institution  of  African 
slavery  had  got  into  politics  as  a  vital  force  that  Con 
gress  became  a  bear-garden,  and  that  our  law-makers, 
laying  aside  their  manners  with  their  small-clothes,  fell 
into  the  loose-fitting  habiliments  of  modern  fashion  and 
the  slovenly  jargon  of  partisan  controversy.  The 
gentlemen  who  signed  the  Declaration  and  framed  the 
Constitution  were  succeeded  by  gentlemen — much  like 
themselves — but  these  were  succeeded  by  a  race  of  party 
leaders  much  less  decorous  and  much  more  self-confi 
dent;  rugged,  puissant;  deeply  moved  in  all  that  they 
said  and  did,  and  sometimes  turbulent;  so  that  finally, 
when  the  volcano  burst  forth  flames  that  reached  the 
heavens,  great  human  bowlders  appeared  amid  the  glare 
on  every  side ;  none  of  them  much  to  speak  of  according 
to  rules  regnant  at  St.  James  and  Versailles ;  but  vigor 
ous,  able  men,  full  of  their  mission  and  of  themselves, 
and  pulling  for  dear  life  in  opposite  directions. 

There  were  Seward  and  Sumner  and  Chase,  Corwin 
and  Ben  Wade,  Trumbull  and  Fessenden,  Hale  and 
Collamer  and  Grimes,  and  Wendell  Phillips,  and  Hor 
ace  Greeley,  our  latter-day  Franklin.  There  were 
Toombs  and  Hammond,  and  Slidell  and  Wigfall,  and 
the  two  little  giants,  Douglas  and  Stephens,  and  Yan- 
cey  and  Mason,  and  Jefferson  Davis.  With  them 
soft  words  buttered  no  parsnips,  and  they  cared  little 
how  many  pitchers  might  be  broken  by  rude  ones.  The 
139 


The  Compromises  of  Life 

issue  between  them  did  not  require  a  diagram  to  explain 
it.  It  was  so  simple  a  child  might  understand.  It 
read,  human  slavery  against  human  freedom,  slave  labor 
against  free  labor,  and  involved  a  conflict  as  inevitable 
as  it  was  irrepressible. 

Long  before  the  guns  of  Beauregard  opened  fire  upon 
Fort  Sumter,  and,  fulfilling  the  programme  of  extrem 
ism,  "blood  was  sprinkled  in  the  faces  of  the  people/' 
the  hustings  in  America  had  become  a  battle-ground, 
and  every  rood  of  debatable  territory  a  ring  for  contro 
versial  mills,  always  tumultuous,  and  sometimes  san 
guinary.  No  sooner  had  the  camp-fires  of  the  Revolu 
tion — which  warmed  so  many  noble  hearts  and  lighted 
so  many  patriotic  lamps — no  sooner  had  the  camp- 
fires  of  the  Revolution  died  out,  than  there  began  to 
burn,  at  first  fitfully,  then  to  blaze  alarmingly  in  every 
direction,  a  succession  of  forest  fires,  baffling  the  ener 
gies  and  resources  of  the  good  and  brave  men  who 
sought  to  put  them  out.  Mr.  Webster,  at  once  a 
learned  jurist  and  a  prose  poet,  might  thunder  exposi 
tions  of  the  written  law,  to  quiet  the  fears  of  the  slave 
owner  and  to  lull  the  waves  of  agitation.  Mr.  Clay, 
by  his  resistless  eloquence  and  overmastering  person 
ality,  might  compromise  first  one  and  then  another  of 
the  irreconcilable  conditions  that  threw  themselves 
across  the  pathway  of  conservative  statesmanship.  To 
no  purpose,  except  to  delay  the  fatal  hour. 

There  were  moving  to  the  foreground  moral  forces 
140 


Abraham  Lincoln 

which  would  down  at  no  man's  bidding.  The  still, 
small  voice  of  emancipation,  stifled  for  a  moment  by 
self-interest  playing  upon  the  fears  of  the  timid,  recov 
ered  its  breath  and  broke  into  a  cry  for  abolition.  The 
cry  for  abolition  rose  in  volume  to  a  roar.  Slowly, 
step  by  step,  the  forces  of  freedom  advanced  to  meet 
the  forces  of  slavery.  Gradually,  these  mighty,  dis 
cordant  elements  approached  the  predestined  line  of 
battle;  the  gains  for  a  while  seeming  to  be  in  doubt, 
but  in  reality  all  on  one  side.  There  was  less  and  less 
of  middle-ground.  The  middle-men  who  ventured  to 
get  in  the  way  were  either  struck  down  or  absorbed  by 
the  one  party  or  the  other.  The  Senate  had  its  Gettys 
burg;  and  many  and  many  a  Shiloh  was  fought  on  the 
floor  of  the  House.  Actual  war  raged  in  Kansas. 
The  mysterious  descent  upon  Harper's  Ferry,  like  a 
fire-bell  in  the  night,  might  have  warned  all  men  of  the 
coming  conflagration ;  might  have  revealed  to  all  men 
a  prophecy  in  the  lines  that,  quoted  to  describe  the 
scene,  foretold  the  event — 

"The  rock-ribbed  ledges  drip  with  a  silent  horror  of 

blood, 
And    Echo    there,    whatever    is   asked    her,    answers: 

'Death.'  " 

Greek  was  meeting  Greek  at  last;  and  the  field  of 
politics  became  almost  as  sulphurous  and  murky  as  an 
actual  field  of  battle. 

141 


The  Compromises  of  Life 

Amid  the  noise  and  confusion,  the  clashing  of  intel 
lects  like  sabres  bright,  and  the  booming  of  the  big  ora 
torical  guns  of  the  North  and  the  South,  now  definitely 
arrayed,  there  came  one  day  into  the  Northern  camp 
one  of  the  oddest  figures  imaginable;  the  figure  of  a 
man  who,  in  spite  of  an  appearance  somewhat  at  outs 
with  Hogarth's  line  of  beauty,  wore  a  serious  aspect, 
if  not  an  air  of  command,  and,  pausing  to  utter  a  single 
sentence  that  might  be  heard  above  the  din,  passed  on 
and  for  a  moment  disappeared.  The  sentence  was  preg 
nant  with  meaning.  The  man  bore  a  commission  from 
God  on  high!  He  said:  "A  house  divided  against  it 
self  cannot  stand.  I  believe  this  Government  cannot 
endure  permanently  half  free  and  half  slave.  I  do  not 
expect  the  Union  to  be  dissolved ;  I  do  not  expect  the 
house  to  fall;  but  I  do  expect  it  will  cease  to  be 
divided."  He  was  Abraham  Lincoln. 

How  shall  I  describe  him  to  you  ?  Shall  I  speak  of 
him  as  I  first  saw  him  immediately  on  his  arrival  in  the 
national  capital,  the  chosen  President  of  the  United 
States,  his  appearance  quite  as  strange  as  the  story  of 
his  life,  which  was  then  but  half  known  and  half  told, 
or  shall  I  use  the  words  of  another  and  a  more  graphic 
word-painter? 

In  January,  1861,  Colonel  A.  K.  McClure,  of  Penn 
sylvania,  journeyed  to  Springfield,  111.,  to  meet  and 
confer  with  the  man  he  had  done  so  much  to  elect,  but 
whom  he  had  never  personally  known.  "I  went  di- 
142 


Abraham  Lincoln 

rectly  from  the  depot  to  Lincoln's  house,"  says  Colonel 
McClure,  "and  rang  the  bell,  which  was  answered  by 
Lincoln  himself  opening  the  door.  I  doubt  whether  I 
wholly  concealed  my  disappointment  at  meeting  him. 
Tall,  gaunt,  ungainly,  ill-clad,  with  a  homeliness  of 
maner  that  was  unique  in  itself,  I  confess  that  my  heart 
sank  within  me  as  I  remembered  that  this  was  the  man 
chosen  by  a  great  nation  to  become  its  ruler  in  the 
gravest  period  of  its  history.  I  remember  his  dress  as  if 
it  were  but  yesterday — snuff-colored  and  slouchy  pan 
taloons;  open  black  vest,  held  by  a  few  brass  buttons; 
straight  or  evening  dress-coat,  with  tightly  fitting 
sleeves  to  exaggerate  his  long,  bony  arms,  all  supple 
mented  by  an  awkwardness  that  was  uncommon  among 
men  of  intelligence.  Such  was  the  picture  I  met  in  the 
person  of  Abraham  Lincoln.  We  sat  down  in  his 
plainly  furnished  parlor,  and  were  uninterrupted  dur 
ing  the  nearly  four  hours  I  remained  with  him,  and, 
little  by  little,  as  his  earnestness,  sincerity,  and  candor 
were  developed  in  conversation,  I  forgot  all  the  gro 
tesque  qualities  which  so  confounded  me  when  I  first 
greeted  him.  Before  half  an  hour  had  passed  I  learned 
not  only  to  respect,  but,  indeed,  to  reverence  the 
man." 

A  graphic  portrait,  truly,  and  not  unlike.     I  recall 

him,  two  months  later,  a  little  less  uncouth,  a  little 

better  dressed,  but  in  singularity   and   in   angularity 

much  the  same.     All  the  world  now  takes  an  interest 

143 


The  Compromises  of  Life 

in  every  detail  that  concerned  him,  or  that  relates  to 
the  weird  tragedy  of  his  life  and  death. 

And  who  was  this  peculiar  being,  destined  in  his 
mother's  arms — for  cradle  he  had  none — so  profoundly 
to  affect  the  future  of  human-kind?  He  has  told  us 
himself,  in  words  so  simple  and  unaffected,  so  idiomatic 
and  direct,  that  we  can  neither  misread  them,  nor  im 
prove  upon  them.  Answering  one  who,  in  1859,  had 
asked  him  for  some  biographic  particulars,  Abraham 
Lincoln  wrote: 

"I  was  born  February  12,  1809,  in  Hardin  County, 
Kentucky.  My  parents  were  both  born  in  Virginia,  of 
undistinguished  families — second  families,  perhaps  I 
should  say.  My  mother,  who  died  in  my  tenth  year, 
was  of  a  family  of  the  name  of  Hanks.  .  .  .  My 
paternal  grandfather,  Abraham  Lincoln,  emigrated 
from  Rockingham  County,  Va.,  to  Kentucky  about 
1781  or  1782,  where,  a  year  or  two  later,  he  was  killed 
by  the  Indians,  not  in  battle,  but  by  stealth,  when  he 
was  laboring  to  open  a  farm  in  the  forest.  .  .  . 

"My  father  (Thomas  Lincoln)  at  the  death  of  his 
father  was  but  six  years  of  age.  By  the  early  death  of 
his  father,  and  the  very  narrow  circumstances  of  his 
mother,  he  was,  even  in  childhood,  a  wandering,  labor 
ing  boy,  and  grew  up  literally  without  education.  He 
never  did  more  in  the  way  of  writing  than  bunglingly 
to  write  his  own  name.  .  .  .  He  removed  from 
Kentucky  to  what  is  now  Spencer  County,  Indiana,  in 
my  eighth  year.  ...  It  was  a  wild  region,  with 
many  bears  and  other  animals  still  in  the  woods. 
.  .  .  There  were  some  schools,  so-called,  but  no 
qualification  was  ever  required  of  a  teacher  beyond 

144 


Abraham   Lincoln 

'readin',  writin',  and  cipherin'  to  the  rule  of  three.'  If 
a  straggler  supposed  to  understand  Latin  happened  to 
sojourn  in  the  neighborhood  he  was  looked  upon  as  a 
wizard.  .  .  .  Of  course,  when  I  came  of  age  I 
did  not  know  much.  Still,  somehow,  I  could  read, 
write,  and  cipher  to  the  rule  of  three.  But  that  was 
all.  .  .  .  The  little  advance  I  now  have  upon 
this  store  of  education  I  have  picked  up  from  time  to 
time  under  the  pressure  of  necessity. 

"I  was  raised  to  farm  work  .  .  .  till  I  was 
twenty-two.  At  twenty-one  I  came  to  Illinois,  Ma- 
con  County.  Then  I  got  to  New  Salem  .  .  . 
where  I  remained  a  year  as  a  sort  of  clerk  in  a  store. 
Then  came  the  Black  Hawk  War;  and  I  was  elected 
captain  of  a  volunteer  company,  a  success  that  gave 
me  more  pleasure  than  any  I  have  had  since.  I  went 
the  campaign,  was  elated,  ran  for  the  Legislature  the 
same  year  (1832),  and  was  beaten — the  only  time  I 
ever  have  been  beaten  by  the  people.  The  next,  and 
three  succeeding  biennial  elections,  I  was  elected  to  the 
Legislature.  I  was  not  a  candidate  afterward.  Dur 
ing  the  legislative  period  I  had  studied  law  and  re 
moved  to  Springfield  to  practise  it.  In  1846  I  was 
elected  to  the  lower  house  of  Congress.  Was  not  a 
candidate  for  re-election.  From  1849  to  1854,  inclu 
sive,  practised  law  more  assiduously  than  ever  before. 
Always  a  Whig  in  politics,  and  generally  on  the  Whig 
electoral  tickets,  making  active  canvasses.  I  was 
losing  interest  in  politics  when  the  repeal  of  the  Mis 
souri  Compromise  aroused  me  again. 

"If  any  personal  description  of  me  is  thought  desir 
able,  it  may  be  said  that  I  am  in  height  six  feet  four 
inches,  nearly;  lean  in  flesh,  weighing  on  an  average 
one  hundred  and  eighty  pounds;  dark  complexion, 
with  coarse  black  hair  and  gray  eyes.  No  other  marks 
or  brands  recollected." 

145 


The  Compromises  of  Life 

There  is  the  whole  story,  told  by  himself,  and  brought 
down  to  the  point  where  he  became  a  figure  of  national 
importance. 

His  political  philosophy  was  expounded  in  four  elab 
orate  speeches;  one  delivered  at  Peoria,  111.,  October 
16,  1 854;  one  at  Springfield,  111.,  June  16,  1858;  one  at 
Columbus,  O.,  September  16,  1859,  and  one,  February 
27,  1860,  at  Cooper  Institute,  in  the  city  of  New  York. 
Of  course,  Mr.  Lincoln  made  many  speeches  and  very 
good  speeches.  But  these  four,  progressive  in  charac 
ter,  contain  the  sum  total  of  his  creed  touching  the  or 
ganic  character  of  the  Government  and  at  the  same 
time  his  personal  and  party  view  of  contemporary  af 
fairs.  They  show  him  to  have  been  an  old-line  Whig 
of  the  school  of  Henry  Clay,  with  strong  emancipation 
leanings ;  a  thorough  anti-slavery  man,  but  never  an  ex 
tremist  or  an  abolitionist.  To  the  last  he  hewed  to 
the  line  thus  laid  down. 

Two  or  three  years  ago  I  referred  to  Abraham  Lin 
coln — in  a  casual  way — as  one  "inspired  of  God."  I 
was  taken  to  task  for  this  and  thrown  upon  my  defence. 
Knowing  less  then  than  I  now  know  of  Mr.  Lincoln, 
I  confined  myself  to  the  superficial  aspects  of  the  case ; 
to  the  career  of  a  man  who  seemed  to  have  lacked  the 
opportunity  to  prepare  himself  for  the  great  estate  to 
which  he  had  come,  plucked  as  it  were  from  obscurity 
by  a  caprice  of  fortune. 

Accepting  the  doctrine  of  inspiration  as  a  law  of  the 
146 


Abraham  Lincoln 

universe,  I  still  stand  to  this  belief;  but  I  must  qualify 
it  as  far  as  it  conveys  the  idea  that  Mr.  Lincoln  was  not 
as  well  equipped  in  actual  knowledge  of  men  and  af* 
fairs  as  any  of  his  contemporaries.  Mr.  Webster  once 
said  that  he  had  been  preparing  to  make  his  reply  to 
Hayne  for  thirty  years.  Mr.  Lincoln  had  been  in  un 
conscious  training  for  the  Presidency  for  thirty  years. 
His  maiden  address  as  a  candidate  for  the  Legislature, 
issued  at  the  ripe  old  age  of  twenty-three,  closes  with 
these  words,  "But  if  the  good  people  in  their  wisdom 
shall  see  fit  to  keep  me  in  the  background,  I  have  been 
too  familiar  with  disappointment  to  be  very  much 
chagrined."  The  man  who  wrote  that  sentence,  thirty 
years  later  wrote  this  sentence:  "The  mystic  chords  of 
memory,  stretching  from  every  battle-field  and  patriot- 
grave  to  every  living  heart  and  hearthstone  all  over  this 
broad  land,  will  yet  swell  the  chorus  of  the  Union, 
when  again  touched,  as  surely  they  will  be,  by  the 
angels  of  our  better  nature."  Between  those  two  sen 
tences,  joined  by  a  kindred,  sombre  thought,  flowed  a 
life-current — 

"Strong,  without  rage,  without  o'erflowing,   full," 

pausing  never  for  an  instant;  deepening  while  it  ran, 
but  nowise  changing  its  course  or  its  tones ;  always  the 
same;  calm;  patient;  affectionate;  like  one  born  to  a 
destiny,  and,  as  in  a  dream,  feeling  its  resistless  force. 
It  is  needful  to  a  complete  understanding  of  Mr. 
147 


The  Compromises  of  Life 

Lincoln's  relation  to  the  time  and  to  his  place  in  the 
political  history  of  the  country,  that  the  student  peruse 
closely  the  four  speeches  to  which  I  have  called  atten 
tion  ;  they  underlie  all  that  passed  in  the  famous  debate 
with  Douglas;  all  that  their  author  said  and  did  after 
he  succeeded  to  the  Presidency.  They  stand  to-day  as 
masterpieces  of  popular  oratory.  But  for  our  present 
purpose  the  debate  with  Douglas  will  suffice — the  most 
extraordinary  intellectual  spectacle  the  annals  of  our 
party  warfare  afford.  Lincoln  entered  the  canvass  un 
known  outside  the  State  of  Illinois.  He  closed  it  re 
nowned  from  one  end  of  the  land  to  the  other. 

Judge  Douglas  was  himself  unsurpassed  as  a  stump- 
speaker  and  ready  debater.  But  in  that  campaign,  from 
first  to  last,  Judge  Douglas  was  at  a  serious  disadvan 
tage.  His  bark  rode  upon  an  ebbing  tide;  Lincoln's 
bark  rode  upon  a  flowing  tide.  African  slavery  was  the 
issue  now;  and  the  whole  trend  of  modern  thought  was 
set  against  slavery.  The  Democrats  seemed  hopelessly 
divided.  The  Little  Giant  had  to  face  a  triangular  op 
position  embracing  the  Republicans,  the  Administra 
tion,  or  Buchanan  Democrats,  and  a  little  remnant  of 
the  old  Whigs,  who  fancied  that  their  party  was  still 
alive  and  thought  to  hold  some  kind  of  balance  of 
power.  Judge  Douglas  called  the  combination  the 
"allied  army,"  and  declared  that  he  would  deal  with 
it  "just  as  the  Russians  dealt  with  the  allies  at  Sebas- 
topol — that  is,  the  Russians  did  not  stop  to  inquire, 
148 


Abraham  Lincoln 

when  they  fired  a  broadside,  whether  it  hit  an  English 
man,  a  Frenchman,  or  a  Turk."  It  was  something 
more  than  a  witticism  when  Mr.  Lincoln  rejoined,  "In 
that  case,  I  beg  he  will  indulge  us  while  we  suggest  to 
him  that  those  allies  took  Sebastopol." 

He  followed  this  centre-shot  with  volley  after  volley 
of  exposition  so  clear,  of  reasoning  so  close,  of  illustra 
tion  so  pointed,  and,  at  times,  of  humor  so  incisive,  that, 
though  he  lost  his  election — though  the  allies  did  not 
then  take  Sebastopol — his  defeat  counted  for  more  than 
Douglas's  victory,  for  it  made  him  the  logical  and  suc 
cessful  candidate  for  President  of  the  United  States  two 
years  later. 

What  could  be  more  captivating  to  an  out-door  audi 
ence  than  Lincoln's  description  "of  the  two  persons  who 
stand  before  the  people  of  the  State  as  candidates  for 
the  Senate,"  to  quote  his  prefatory  words?  "Judge 
Douglas,"  he  said,  "is  of  world-wide  renown.  All 
the  anxious  politicians  of  his  party  .  .  .  have  been 
looking  upon  him  as  certainly  .  .  .  to  be  Presi 
dent  of  the  United  States.  They  have  seen  in  his 
round,  jolly,  fruitful  face,  post-offices,  land-offices,  mar- 
shalships  and  cabinet  appointments,  chargeships  and 
foreign  missions,  bursting  and  spreading  out  in  wonder 
ful  exuberance,  ready  to  be  laid  hold  of  by  their  greedy 
hands.  And  as  they  have  been  gazing  upon  this  attrac 
tive  picture  so  long,  they  cannot,  in  the  little  distraction 
that  has  taken  place  in  the  party,  bring  themselves  to 
149 


The  Compromises  of  Life 

give  up  the  charming  hope;  but  with  greedier  anxiety 
they  rush  about  him,  sustain  him,  and  give  him  marches, 
triumphal  entries,  and  receptions,  beyond  what  in  the 
days  of  his  highest  prosperity  they  could  have  brought 
about  in  his  favor.  On  the  contrary,  nobody  has  ever 
expected  me  to  be  President.  In  my  poor,  lean,  lank 
face  nobody  has  ever  seen  that  any  cabbages  were 
sprouting." 

As  the  debate  advanced,  these  cheery  tones  deepened 
into  harsher  notes;  crimination  and  recrimination  fol 
lowed  ;  the  two  gladiators  were  strung  to  their  utmost 
tension.  They  became  dreadfully  in  earnest.  Per 
sonal  collision  was  narrowly  avoided.  I  have  recently 
gone  over  the  entire  debate,  and  with  a  feeling  I  can 
only  describe  as  most  contemplative,  most  melancholy. 

I  knew  Judge  Douglas  well;  I  admired,  respected, 
loved  him.  I  shall  never  forget  the  day  he  quitted 
Washington  to  go  to  his  home  in  Illinois  to  return  no 
more.  Tears  were  in  his  eyes  and  his  voice  trembled 
like  a  woman's.  He  was  then  a  dying  man.  He  had 
burned  the  candle  at  both  ends  from  his  boyhood;  an 
eager,  ardent,  hard-working,  pleasure-loving  man ;  and, 
though  not  yet  fifty,  the  candle  was  burned  out.  His 
infirmities  were  no  greater  than  those  of  Mr.  Clay;  not 
to  be  mentioned  with  those  of  Mr.  Webster.  But  he 
lived  in  more  exacting  times.  The  old-style  party 
organ,  with  its  mock  heroics  and  its  dull  respectability, 
its  beggarly  array  of  empty  news-columns  and  cheap 
150 


Abraham  Lincoln 

advertising,  had  been  succeeded  by  that  unsparing,  tell 
tale  scandal -monger,  modern  journalism,  with  its 
myriad  of  hands  and  eyes,  its  vast  retinue  of  detectives, 
and  its  quick  transit  over  flashing  wires,  annihilating 
time  and  space.  Too  fierce  a  light  beat  upon  the  pri 
vate  life  of  public  men,  and  Douglas  suffered  from  this 
as  Clay  and  Webster,  Silas  Wright  and  Franklin  Pierce 
had  not  suffered. 

The  Presidential  bee  was  in  his  bonnet,  certainly; 
but  its  buzzing  there  was  not  noisier  than  in  the  bon 
nets  of  other  great  Americans,  who  have  been  dazzled 
by  that  wretched  bauble.  His  plans  and  schemes  came 
to  naught.  He  died  at  the  moment  when  the  death  of 
those  plans  and  schemes  was  made  more  palpable  and 
impressive  by  the  roar  of  cannon  proclaiming  the  reality 
of  that  irrepressible  conflict  he  had  refused  to  foresee 
and  had  struggled  to  avert.  His  life-long  rival  was  at 
the  head  of  affairs.  No  one  has  found  occasion  to  come 
to  the  rescue  of  his  fame.  No  party  interest  has  been 
identified  with  his  memory.  But  when  the  truth  of 
history  is  written,  it  will  be  told  that,  not  less  than 
Webster  and  Clay,  he,  too,  was  a  patriotic  man,  who 
loved  his  country  and  tried  to  save  the  Union.  He 
tried  to  save  the  Union,  even  as  Webster  and  Clay  had 
tried  to  save  it,  by  compromises  and  expedients.  It 
was  too  late.  The  string  was  played  out.  Where 
they  had  succeeded  he  failed;  but,  for  the  nobility  of 
his  intention,  the  amplitude  of  his  resources,  the  splen- 


The  Compromises  of  Life 

dor  of  his  combat,  he  merits  all  that  any  leader  of 
losing  cause  ever  gained  in  the  report  of  poster 
ity;  and  posterity  will  not  deny  him  the  title  of 
statesman. 

In  that  great  debate  it  was  Titan  against  Titan ;  and, 
perusing  it  after  the  lapse  of  forty  years,  the  philosophic 
and  impartial  critic  will  conclude  which  got  the  better 
of  it,  Lincoln  or  Douglas,  much  according  to  his  sym 
pathy  with  the  one  or  the  other.  Douglas,  as  I  have 
said,  had  the  disadvantage  of  riding  an  ebb-tide.  But 
Lincoln  encountered  a  disadvantage  in  riding  a  flood- 
tide,  which  was  flowing  too  fast  for  a  man  so  conserva 
tive  and  so  honest  as  he  was.  Thus  there  was  not  a 
little  equivocation  on  both  sides  foreign  to  the  nature 
of  the  two.  Both  wanted  to  be  frank.  Both  thought 
they  were  being  frank.  But  each  was  a  little  afraid  of 
his  own  logic;  each  was  a  little  afraid  of  his  own  fol 
lowing;  and  hence  there  was  considerable  hair-splitting, 
involving  accusations  that  did  not  accuse  and  denials 
that  did  not  deny.  They  were  politicians,  these  two, 
as  well  as  statesmen;  they  were  politicians,  and  what 
they  did  not  know  about  political  campaigning  was 
hardly  worth  knowing.  Reverently,  I  take  off  my  hat 
to  both  of  them ;  and  I  turn  down  the  page ;  I  close  the 
book  and  lay  it  on  its  shelf,  with  the  inward  ejacula 
tion,  "there  were  giants  in  those  days." 

I  am  not  undertaking  to  deliver  an  oral  biography 
of  Abraham  Lincoln,  and  shall  pass  over  the  events 
152 


Abraham  Lincoln 

which  quickly  led  up  to  his  nomination  and  election  to 
the  Presidency  in  1860. 

I  met  the  newly  elected  President  the  afternoon  of 
the  day  in  the  early  morning  of  which  he  had  arrived 
in  Washington.  It  was  a  Saturday,  I  think.  He  came 
to  the  Capitol  under  Mr.  Seward's  escort,  and,  among 
the  rest,  I  was  presented  to  him.  His  appearance  did 
not  impress  me  as  fantastically  as  it  had  impressed 
Colonel  McClure.  I  was  more  familiar  with  the 
Western  type  than  Colonel  McClure,  and  while  Mr. 
Lincoln  was  certainly  not  an  Adonis,  even  after  prairie 
ideals,  there  was  about  him  a  dignity  that  commanded 
respect. 

I  met  him  again  the  forenoon  of  March  4  in  his 
apartment  at  Willard's  Hotel  as  he  was  preparing  to 
start  to  his  inauguration,  and  was  touched  by  his  un 
affected  kindness;  for  I  came  with  a  matter  requiring 
his  immediate  attention.  He  was  entirely  self-pos 
sessed  ;  no  trace  of  nervousness ;  and  very  obliging.  I 
accompanied  the  cortege  that  passed  from  the  Senate 
chamber  to  the  vast  portico  of  the  capitol,  and,  as  Mr. 
Lincoln  removed  his  hat  to  face  the  vast  multitude  in 
front  and  below,  I  extended  my  hand  to  receive  it,  but 
Judge  Douglas,  just  beside  me,  reached  over  my  out 
stretched  arm  and  took  the  hat,  holding  it  throughout 
the  delivery  of  the  inaugural  address.  I  stood  near 
enough  to  the  speaker's  elbow  not  to  obstruct  any  gest 
ures  he  might  make,  though  he  made  but  few;  and 
153 


The  Compromises  of  Life 

then  it  was  that  I  began  to  comprehend  something  of 
the  power  of  the  man. 

He  delivered  that  inaugural  address  as  if  he  had  been 
delivering  inaugural  addresses  all  his  life.  Firm, 
resonant,  earnest,  it  announced  the  coming  of  a  man ;  of 
a  leader  of  men;  and  in  its  ringing  tones  and  elevated 
style,  the  gentlemen  he  had  invited  to  become  members 
of  his  political  family — each  of  whom  thought  himself 
a  bigger  man  than  his  master — might  have  heard  the 
voice  and  seen  the  hand  of  a  man  born  to  command. 
Whether  they  did  or  not,  they  very  soon  ascertained 
the  fact.  From  the  hour  Abraham  Lincoln  crossed 
the  threshold  of  the  White  House  to  the  hour  he  went 
thence  to  his  death,  there  was  not  a  moment  when  he 
did  not  dominate  the  political  and  military  situation 
and  all  his  official  subordinates. 

Mr.  Seward  was  the  first  to  fall  a  victim  to  his  own 
temerity.  One  of  the  most  extraordinary  incidents 
that  ever  passed  between  a  chief  and  his  lieutenant  came 
about  within  thirty  days  after  the  incoming  of  the  new 
administration.  On  April  i  Mr.  Seward  submitted  to 
Mr.  Lincoln  a  memorandum,  entitled  "Some  Thoughts 
for  the  President's  Consideration."  He  began  this  by 
saying:  "We  are  at  the  end  of  a  month's  administra 
tion,  and  yet  without  a  policy,  either  foreign  or  domes 
tic."  There  follows  a  series  of  suggestions  hardly  less 
remarkable  for  their  character  than  for  their  emana 
tion.  They  make  quite  a  baker's  dozen,  for  the  most 
154 


Abraham  Lincoln 

part  flimsy  and  irrelevant ;  but  two  of  them  are  so  con 
spicuous  for  a  lack  of  sagacity  and  comprehension  that 
I  shall  quote  them  as  a  sample  of  the  whole : 

"We  must  change  the  question  before  the  public," 
says  Mr.  Seward,  "from  one  upon  slavery,  or  about 
slavery,  to  one  upon  union  or  disunion" — as  if  it  had 
not  been  thus  changed  already — and  "I  would  demand 
explanations  from  Spain  and  France,  energetically,  at 
once,  .  .  .  and,  if  satisfactory  explanations  are 
not  received  from  Spain  and  France,  I  would  convene 
Congress  and  declare  war  against  them.  ...  I 
would  seek  explanations  from  Great  Britain  and  Rus 
sia,  and  send  agents  into  Canada,  Mexico,  and  Central 
America  to  arouse  a  vigorous  spirit  of  continental  inde 
pendence  on  this  continent  against  European  interven 
tion." 

Think  of  it!  At  the  moment  this  advice  was  seri 
ously  given  the  head  of  the  State  by  the  head  of  the 
Cabinet — supposed  to  be  the  most  accomplished  states 
man  and  astute  diplomatist  of  his  time — a  Southern 
Confederacy  had  been  actually  established,  and  Europe 
was  only  too  eager  for  some  pretext  to  put  in  its  oar, 
effectually,  finally,  to  compass  the  dissolution  of  the 
Union  and  the  defeat  of  the  Republican  experiment  in 
America.  The  Government  of  the  United  States  had 
but  to  make  a  grimace  at  France  and  Spain ;  to  bat  its 
eye  at  England  and  Russia,  to  raise  up  a  quadruple 
alliance,  monarchy  against  democracy,  bringing  down 
155 


The  Compromises  of  Life 

upon  itself  the  navies  of  the  world,  and  double  assur 
ing,  double  confirming  the  Government  of  Jefferson 
Davis. 

In  concluding  these  astounding  counsels,  Mr.  Sew- 
ard  says: 

"But  whatever  policy  we  adopt,  there  must  be  an 
energetic  prosecution  of  it. 

"For  this  purpose  it  must  be  somebody's  business  to 
pursue  and  direct  it  incessantly. 

"Either  the  President  must  do  it  himself  and  be  all 
the  while  active  in  it,  or  devolve  it  on  some  member  of 
his  Cabinet. 

"Once  adopted,  all  debates  on  it  must  end  and  all 
agree  and  abide. 

"It  is  not  in  my  especial  province;  but  I  neither 
seek  to  evade  nor  assume  responsibility." 

Before  hearing  Mr.  Lincoln's  answer  to  all  this,  con 
sider  what  it  really  implied.  If  Mr.  Seward  had  sim 
ply  said :  "Mr.  Lincoln,  you  are  a  failure  as  President, 
but  turn  over  the  direction  of  affairs  exclusively  to  me, 
and  all  shall  be  well  and  all  be  forgiven,"  he  could  not 
have  spoken  more  explicitly  and  hardly  more  offensively. 

Now  let  us  see  how  a  great  man  carries  himself  at  a 
critical  moment  under  extreme  provocation.  Here  is 
the  answer  Mr.  Lincoln  sent  Mr.  Seward  that  very 
night : 

"Executive  Mansion,  April  I,  1861. 
"Hon.  W.  H.  Seward: 

"My  Dear  Sir:  Since  parting  with  you  I  have 
been  considering  your  paper  dated  this  day  and  entitled 

156 


Abraham  Lincoln 

'some  thoughts  for  the  President's  consideration.'  The 
first  proposition  in  it  is,  'we  are  at  the  end  of  a  month's 
administration  and  yet  without  a  policy,  either  domes 
tic  or  foreign.' 

"At  the  beginning  of  that  month  in  the  inaugural  I 
said :  'The  power  confided  to  me  will  be  used  to  hold, 
occupy,  and  possess  the  property  and  places  belonging 
to  the  Government,  and  to  collect  the  duties  and  im 
ports.'  This  had  your  distinct  approval  at  the  time; 
and  taken  in  connection  with  the  order  I  immediately 
gave  General  Scott,  directing  him  to  employ  every 
means  in  his  power  to  strengthen  and  hold  the  forts, 
comprises  the  exact  domestic  policy  you  urge,  with  the 
single  exception  that  it  does  not  propose  to  abandon 
Fort  Sumter. 

"The  news  received  yesterday  in  regard  to  Santo 
Domingo  certainly  brings  a  new  item  within  the  range 
of  our  foreign  policy,  but  up  to  that  time  we  have  been 
preparing  circulars  and  instructions  to  ministers  and 
the  like,  all  in  perfect  harmony,  without  even  a  sug 
gestion  that  we  had  no  foreign  policy. 

"Upon  your  closing  proposition — that  'Whatever 
policy  we  adopt,  there  must  be  an  energetic  prosecu 
tion  of  it. 

"  'For  this  purpose  it  must  be  somebody's  business 
to  pursue  and  direct  it  incessantly. 

"  'Either  the  President  must  do  it  himself  and  be 
all  the  while  active  in  it,  or  devolve  it  upon  some  mem 
ber  of  his  Cabinet. 

"  'Once  adopted,  debates  must  end,  and  all  agree 
and  abide.'  I  remark  that  if  this  be  done,  I  must  do 
it.  When  a  general  line  of  policy  is  adopted,  I  appre 
hend  there  is  no  danger  of  its  being  changed  without 
good  reason,  or  continuing  to  be  a  subject  of  unneces 
sary  debate;  still,  upon  points  arising  in  its  progress, 

157 


The  Compromises  of  Life 

I  wish,  and  suppose  I  am  entitled  to  have,  the  advice 
of  all  the  Cabinet.     Your  obedient  servant, 

"A.  LINCOLN." 

I  agree  with  Lincoln's  biographers  that  in  this  letter 
not  a  word  was  omitted  that  was  necessary,  and  not  a 
hint  or  allusion  is  contained  that  could  be  dispensed 
with.  It  was  conclusive.  It  ended  the  argument. 
Mr.  Seward  dropped  into  his  place.  Mr.  Lincoln 
never  referred  to  it.  From  that  time  forward  the  un 
derstanding  between  them  was  mutual  and  perfect.  So 
much  so  that  when,  May  21  following,  Mr.  Seward  sub 
mitted  to  the  President  the  draft  of  a  letter  of  instruc 
tion  to  Charles  Francis  Adams,  then  Minister  to  Eng 
land,  Mr.  Lincoln  did  not  hesitate  to  change  much  of 
its  character  and  purpose  by  his  alteration  of  its  text. 
This  original  copy  of  this  despatch,  in  Mr.  Seward's 
handwriting,  with  Mr.  Lincoln's  interlineations,  is  still 
to  be  seen  on  file  in  the  Department  of  State.  It  is  safe 
to  say  that,  if  that  letter  had  gone  as  Mr.  Seward  wrote 
it,  a  war  with  England  would  have  been,  if  not  inevita 
ble,  yet  very  likely.  Mr.  Lincoln's  additions,  hardly 
less  than  his  suppressions,  present  a  curious  contrast 
between  the  seer  in  affairs  and  the  scholar  in  affairs. 
Even  in  the  substitution  of  one  word  for  another,  Mr. 
Lincoln  shows  a  grasp  both  upon  the  situation  and  the 
language  which  seems  to  have  been  wholly  wanting  in 
Mr.  Seward,  with  all  his  experience  and  learning.  It 
is  said  that,  pondering  over  this  document,  weighing  in 
158 


Abraham  Lincoln 

his  mind  its  meaning  and  import,  his  head  bowed  and 
pencil  in  hand,  Mr.  Lincoln  was  overheard  murmur 
ing  to  himself:  "One  war  at  a  time — one  war  at  a 
time." 

While  I  am  on  this  matter  of  who  was  really  Presi 
dent  while  Abraham  Lincoln  occupied  the  office,  I  may 
as  well  settle  it.  We  all  remember  how,  in  setting  up 
for  a  bigger  man  than  his  chief,  Mr.  Chase  fared  no 
better  than  Mr.  Seward.  But  it  is  sometimes  claimed 
that  Mr.  Stanton  was  more  successful  in  this  line. 
Many  stories  are  told  of  how  Stanton  lorded  it  over 
Lincoln.  On  a  certain  occasion  it  is  related  that  the 
President  was  informed  by  an  irate  friend  that  the  Sec 
retary  of  War  had  not  only  refused  to  execute  an  order 
of  his,  but  had  called  him  a  fool  into  the  bargain.  "Did 
Stanton  say  I  was  a  fool?"  said  Lincoln.  "Yes,"  re 
plied  his  friend,  "he  said  you  were  a  blank,  blank  fool !" 
Lincoln  looked  first  good-humoredly  at  his  friend  and 
then  furtively  out  of  the  window  in  the  direction  of 
the  War  Department,  and  carelessly  observed:  "Well, 
it  Stanton  says  that  I  am  a  blank  fool,  it  must  be  so,  for 
Stanton  is  nearly  always  right  and  generally  means 
what  he  says.  I  think  I  shall  just  have  to  step  over  and 
see  Stanton." 

On  another  occasion  Mr.  Lincoln  is  quoted  as  say 
ing:  "I  have  very  little  influence  with  this  Administra 
tion,  but  I  hope  to  have  more  with  the  next." 

Complacent  humor  such  as  this  simply  denotes  as- 
159 


The  Compromises  of  Life 

sured  position.  It  is  merely  the  graciousness  of  con 
scious  power.  But  there  happens  to  be  on  record  a 
story  of  a  different  kind.  This  is  related  by  Gen. 
James  B.  Fry,  Provost  Marshal  General  of  the  Army, 
on  duty  in  the  War  Department. 

As  General  Fry  tells  it,  Mr.  Stan  ton  seems  to  have 
had  the  right  of  it.  The  President  had  given  an  order 
which  the  Secretary  of  War  had  refused  to  issue.  The 
President  thereupon  came  into  the  War  Department 
and  this  is  what  happened.  In  answer  to  Mr.  Lin 
coln's  inquiry  as  to  the  cause  of  the  trouble,  Mr.  Stan- 
ton  went  over  the  record  and  the  grounds  for  his  action, 
and  concluded  with:  "Now,  Mr.  President,  these  are 
the  facts,  and  you  must  see  that  your  order  cannot  be 
executed." 

Lincoln  sat  upon  a  sofa  with  his  legs  crossed — I  am 
quoting  General  Fry — and  did  not  say  a  word  until 
the  Secretary's  last  remark.  Then  he  said  in  a  some 
what  positive  tone:  "Mr.  Secretary,  I  reckon  you'll 
have  to  execute  the  order." 

Stanton  replied  with  asperity:  "Mr.  President,  I 
cannot  do  it.  The  order  is  an  improper  one  and  I  can 
not  execute  it." 

Lincoln  fixed  his  eye  upon  Stanton,  and  in  a  firm 
voice,  and  with  an  accent  that  clearly  showed  his  de 
termination,  he  said : 

"Mr.  Secretary,  it  will  have  to  be  done." 

"Stanton  then  realized" — I  am  still  quoting  General 
1 60 


Abraham  Lincoln 

Fry — "that  he  was  overmatched.  He  had  made  a 
square  issue  with  the  President  and  been  defeated,  not 
withstanding  the  fact  that  he  was  in  the  right.  Upon 
an  intimation  from  him,  I  withdrew  and  did  not  wit 
ness  his  surrender.  A  few  minutes  after  I  reached  my 
office  I  received  instructions  from  the  Secretary  to  carry 
out  the  President's  order.  Stanton  never  mentioned 
the  subject  to  me  afterward,  nor  did  I  ever  ascertain 
the  special,  and  no  doubt  sufficient  reason,  which  the 
President  had  for  his  action  in  the  case." 

Once  General  Halleck  got  on  a  high  horse,  and  de 
manded  that,  if  Mr.  Lincoln  approved  some  ill-natured 
remarks  alleged  to  have  been  made  of  certain  military 
men  about  Washington,  by  Montgomery  Blair,  the 
Postmaster-General,  he  should  dismiss  the  officers  from 
the  service,  but,  if  he  did  not  approve,  he  should  dis 
miss  the  Postmaster-General  from  the  Cabinet.  Mr. 
Lincoln's  reply  is  very  characteristic.  He  declined  to 
do  either  of  the  things  demanded.  He  said : 

"Whether  the  remarks  were  really  made  I  do  not 
know,  nor  do  I  suppose  such  knowledge  necessary  to  a 
correct  response.  If  they  were  made,  I  do  not  approve 
them;  and  yet,  under  the  circumstances,  I  would  not 
dismiss  a  member  of  the  Cabinet  therefor.  I  do  not 
consider  what  may  have  been  hastily  said  in  a  moment 
of  vexation  .  .  .  sufficient  ground  for  so  grave  a 
step.  Besides  this,  truth  is  generally  the  best  vindica 
tion  against  slander.  I  propose  continuing  to  be  my 
self  the  judge  as  to  when  a  member  of  the  Cabinet  shall 
be  dismissed." 

161 


The  Compromises  of  Life 

Next  day,  however,  he  issued  a  warning  to  the  mem 
bers  of  his  political  family,  which,  in  the  form  of  a 
memorandum,  he  re^d  to  them.  There  is  nothing 
equivocal  about  this.  In  language  and  in  tone  it  is  the 
utterance  of  a  master.  I  will  read  it  to  you,  as  it  is 
very  brief  and  to  the  purpose.  The  President  said : 

"I  must  myself  be  the  judge  how  long  to  retain  and 
when  to  remove  any  of  you  from  his  position.  It  would 
greatly  pain  me  to  discover  any  of  you  endeavoring  to 
procure  another's  removal,  or  in  any  way  to  prejudice 
him  before  the  public.  Such  endeavor  would  be  a 
wrong  to  me,  and  much  worse,  a  wrong  to  the  coun 
try.  My  wish  is,  that  on  this  subject  no  remark  be 
made,  nor  any  question  be  asked  by  any  of  you,  here 
or  elsewhere,  now  or  hereafter." 

Always  courteous,  always  tolerant,  always  making 
allowance,  yet  always  explicit,  his  was  the  master-spirit, 
his  the  guiding  hand ;  committing  to  each  of  the  mem 
bers  of  his  Cabinet  the  details  of  the  work  of  his  own 
department;  caring  nothing  for  petty  sovereignty;  but 
reserving  to  himself  all  that  related  to  great  policies, 
the  starting  of  moral  forces  and  the  moving  of  organized 
ideas. 

I  want  to  say  just  here  a  few  words  about  Mr.  Lin 
coln's  relation  to  the  South  and  the  people  of  the  South. 

He  was,  himself,  a  Southern  man.     He  and  all  his 

tribe  were  Southerners.      Although  he  left  Kentucky 

when  but  a  child,  he  was  an  old  child;  he  never  was 

very  young;  and  he  grew  to  manhood  in  a  Kentucky 

162 


Abraham  Lincoln 

colony ;  for  what  was  Illinois  in  those  days  but  a  Ken 
tucky  colony,  grown  since  somewhat  out  of  proportion  ? 
He  was  in  no  sense  what  we  in  the  South  used  to  call 
"a  poor  white."  Awkward,  perhaps;  ungainly,  per 
haps,  but  aspiring;  the  spirit  of  a  hero  beneath  that 
rugged  exterior;  the  soul  of  a  prose-poet  behind  those 
heavy  brows ;  the  courage  of  a  lion  back  of  those  patient, 
kindly  aspects ;  and,  before  he  was  of  legal  age,  a  leader 
of  men.  His  first  love  was  a  Rutledge;  his  wife  was 
a  Todd. 

Let  the  romancist  tell  the  story  of  his  romance.  I 
dare  not.  No  sadder  idyl  can  be  found  in  all  the  short 
and  simple  annals  of  the  poor. 

We  know  that  he  was  a  prose-poet ;  for  have  we  not 
that  immortal  prose-poem  recited  at  Gettysburg?  We 
know  that  he  was  a  statesman ;  for  has  not  time  vindi 
cated  his  conclusions?  But  the  South  does  not  know, 
except  as  a  kind  of  hearsay,  that  he  was  a  friend;  the 
sole  friend  who  had  the  power  and  the  will  to  save  it 
from  itself.  He  was  the  one  man  in  public  life  who 
could  have  come  to  the  head  of  affairs  in  1861,  bringing 
with  him  none  of  the  embittered  resentments  growing 
out  of  the  anti-slavery  battle.  While  Seward,  Chase, 
Sumner,  and  the  rest  had  been  engaged  in  hand-to-hand 
combat  with  the  Southern  leaders  at  Washington,  Lin 
coln,  a  philosopher  and  a  statesman,  had  been  observing 
the  course  of  events  from  afar,  and  like  a  philosopher 
and  a  statesman.  The  direst  blow  that  could  have 
163 


The  Compromises  of  Life 

been  laid  upon  the  prostrate  South  was  delivered  by 
the  assassin's  bullet  that  struck  him  down. 

But  I  digress.  Throughout  the  contention  that  pre 
ceded  the  war,  amid  the  passions  that  attended  the  war 
itself,  not  one  bitter,  prescriptive  word  escaped  the  lips 
of  Abraham  Lincoln,  while  there  was  hardly  a  day  that 
he  was  not  projecting  his  great  personality  between  some 
Southern  man  or  woman  and  danger. 

Under  date  of  February  2,  1848,  from  the  hall  of  the 
House  of  Representatives  at  Washington,  while  he  was 
serving  as  a  member  of  Congress,  he  wrote  this  short 
note  to  his  law  partner  at  Springfield : 

"Dear  William :  I  take  up  my  pen  to  tell  you 
that  Mr.  Stephens,  of  Georgia,  a  little,  slim,  pale- 
faced,  consumptive  man,  with  a  voice  like  Logan's" 
(that  was  Stephen  T.,  not  John  A.),  "has  just  con 
cluded  the  very  best  speech  of  an  hour's  length  I  ever 
heard.  My  old,  withered,  dry  eyes"  (he  was  then  not 
quite  thirty-seven  years  of  age)  "are  full  of  tears  yet." 

From  that  time  forward  he  never  ceased  to  love  Ste 
phens,  of  Georgia. 

After  that  famous  Hampton  Roads  conference,  when 
the  Confederate  Commissioners,  Stephens,  Campbell, 
and  Hunter,  had  traversed  the  field  of  official  routine 
with  Mr.  Lincoln,  the  President,  and  Mr.  Seward,  the 
Secretary  of  State,  Lincoln,  the  friend,  still  the  old 
Whig  colleague,  though  one  was  now  President  of  the 
United  States  and  the  other  Vice-President  of  the 
164 


Abraham  Lincoln 

Southern  Confederacy,  took  the  "slim,  pale-faced,  con 
sumptive  man"  aside,  and,  pointing  to  a  sheet  of  paper 
he  held  in  his  hand,  said:  "Stephens,  let  me  write 
'Union'  at  the  top  of  that  page,  and  you  may  write 
below  it  whatever  else  you  please." 

In  the  preceding  conversation  Mr.  Lincoln  had  inti 
mated  that  payment  for  the  slaves  was  not  outside  a 
possible  agreement  for  reunion  and  peace.  He  based 
that  statement  upon  a  plan  he  already  had  in  hand,  to 
appropriate  four  hundred  millions  of  dollars  to  this 
purpose. 

There  are  those  who  have  put  themselves  to  the  pains 
of  challenging  this  statement  of  mine.  It  admits  of  no 
possible  equivocation.  Mr.  Lincoln  carried  with  him 
to  Fortress  Monroe  two  documents  that  still  stand  in 
his  own  handwriting;  one  of  them  a  joint  resolution  to 
be  passed  by  the  two  Houses  of  Congress  appropriating 
the  four  hundred  millions,  the  other  a  proclamation  to 
be  issued  by  himself,  as  President,  when  the  joint  reso 
lution  had  been  passed.  These  formed  no  part  of  the 
discussion  at  Hampton  Roads,  because  Mr.  Stephens 
told  Mr.  Lincoln  they  were  limited  to  treating  upon 
the  basis  of  the  recognition  of  the  Confederacy,  and  to 
all  intents  and  purposes  the  conference  died  before  it 
was  actually  born.  But  Mr.  Lincoln  was  so  filled  with 
the  idea  that  next  day,  when  he  had  returned  to  Wash 
ington,  he  submitted  the  two  documents  to  the  members 
of  his  Cabinet.  Excepting  Mr.  Seward,  they  were  all 
165 


The  Compromises  of  Life 

against  him.  He  said :  "Why,  gentlemen,  how  long  is 
the  war  going  to  last?  It  is  not  going  to  end  this  side 
of  a  hundred  days,  is  it?  It  is  costing  us  four  millions 
a  day.  There  are  the  four  hundred  millions,  not  count 
ing  the  loss  of  life  and  property  in  the  meantime.  But 
you  are  all  against  me,  and  I  will  not  press  the  matter 
upon  you."  I  have  not  cited  this  fact  of  history  to 
attack,  or  even  to  criticise,  the  policy  of  the  Confeder 
ate  Government,  but  simply  to  illustrate  the  wise  mag 
nanimity  and  justice  of  the  character  of  Abraham  Lin 
coln.  For  my  part,  I  rejoice  that  the  war  did  not  end 
at  Fortress  Monroe — or  any  other  conference — but 
that  it  was  fought  out  to  its  bitter  and  logical  conclu 
sion  at  Appomattox. 

It  was  the  will  of  God  that  there  should  be,  as  God's 
own  prophet  had  promised,  "a  new  birth  of  freedom," 
and  this  could  only  be  reached  by  the  obliteration  of  the 
very  idea  of  slavery.  God  struck  Lincoln  down  in  the 
moment  of  his  triumph,  to  attain  it;  He  blighted  the 
South  to  attain  it.  But  He  did  attain  it.  And  here 
we  are  this  night  to  attest  it.  God's  will  be  done  on 
earth  as  it  is  done  in  Heaven.  But  let  no  Southern 
man  point  finger  at  me  because  I  canonize  Abraham 
Lincoln,  for  he  was  the  one  friend  we  had  at  court 
when  friends  were  most  in  need ;  he  was  the  one  man  in 
power  who  wanted  to  preserve  us  intact,  to  save  us  from 
the  wolves  of  passion  and  plunder  that  stood  at  our 
door;  and  as  that  God,  of  whom  it  has  been  said  that 
1 66 


Abraham  Lincoln 

"whom  He  loveth  He  chasteneth,"  meant  that  the 
South  should  be  chastened,  Lincoln  was  put  out  of  the 
way  by  the  bullet  of  an  assassin,  having  neither  lot  nor 
parcel,  North  or  South,  but  a  winged  emissary  of  fate, 
flown  from  the  shadows  of  the  mystic  world,  which 
^Eschylus  and  Shakespeare  created  and  consecrated  to 
tragedy ! 

I  sometimes  wonder  shall  we  ever  attain  a  journalism 
sufficiently  upright  in  its  treatment  of  current  events  to 
publish  fully  and  fairly  the  utterances  of  our  public 
men,  and,  except  in  cases  of  provable  dishonor,  to  leave 
their  motives  and  their  personalities  alone? 

Reading  just  what  Abraham  Lincoln  did  say  and  did 
do,  it  is  inconceivable  how  such  a  man  could  have 
aroused  antagonism  so  bitter  and  abuse  so  savage,  to 
fall  at  last  by  the  hand  of  an  assassin. 

We  boast  our  superior  civilization  and  our  enlight 
ened  freedom  of  speech ;  and  yet,  how  few  of  us — when 
a  strange  voice  begins  to  utter  unfamiliar  or  unpalata 
ble  things — how  few  of  us  stop  and  ask  ourselves,  May 
not  this  man  be  speaking  the  truth  after  all?  It  is  so 
easy  to  call  names.  It  is  so  easy  to  impugn  motives. 
It  is  so  easy  to  misrepresent  opinions  we  cannot  answer. 
From  the  least  to  the  greatest  what  creatures  we  are  of 
party  spirit,  and  yet,  for  the  most  part,  how  small  its 
aims,  how  imperfect  its  instruments,  how  disappointing 
its  conclusions! 

One  thinks  now  that  the  world  in  which  Abraham 
167 


The  Compromises  of  Life 

Lincoln  lived  might  have  dealt  more  gently  by  such  a 
man.  He  was  himself  so  gentle — so  upright  in  nature 
and  so  broad  of  mind — so  sunny  and  so  tolerant  in  tem 
per — so  simple  and  so  unaffected  in  bearing — a  rude 
exterior  covering  an  undaunted  spirit,  proving  by  his 
every  act  and  word  that — 

"The  bravest  are  the  tenderest, 
The  loving  are  the  daring." 

Though  he  was  a  party  leader,  he  was  a  typical  and 
patriotic  American,  in  whom  even  his  enemies  might 
have  found  something  to  respect  and  admire.  But 
it  could  not  be  so.  He  committed  one  grievous  offence ; 
he  dared  to  think  and  he  was  not  afraid  to  speak ;  he 
was  far  in  advance  of  his  party  and  his  time ;  and  men 
are  slow  to  forgive  what  they  do  not  readily  under 
stand. 

Yet,  all  the  while  that  the  waves  of  passion  were 
breaking  against  his  sturdy  figure,  reared  above  the 
dead-level,  as  a  lone  oak  upon  a  sandy  beach,  not  one 
harsh  word  rankled  in  his  heart  to  sour  the  milk  of 
human  kindness  that,  like  a  perennial  spring  from  the 
gnarled  roots  of  some  majestic  tree,  flowed  thence.  He 
would  smooth  over  a  rough  place  in  his  official  inter 
course  with  a  funny  story  fitting  the  case  in  point,  and 
they  called  him  a  trifler.  He  would  round  off  a  logical 
argument  with  a  familiar  example,  hitting  the  nail 
squarely  on  the  head  and  driving  it  home,  and  they 
1 68 


Abraham   Lincoln 

called  him  a  buffoon.  Big  wigs  and  little  wigs  were 
agreed  that  he  lowered  the  dignity  of  debate;  as  if  de 
bates  were  intended  to  mystify,  and  not  to  clarify  truth. 
Yet  he  went  on  and  on,  and  never  backward,  until  his 
time  was  come,  when  his  genius,  fully  ripened,  rose 
to  emergencies.  Where  did  he  get  his  style?  Ask 
Shakespeare  and  Burns  where  they  got  their  style. 
Where  did  he  get  his  grasp  upon  affairs  and  his  knowl 
edge  of  men  ?  Ask  the  Lord  God  who  created  miracles 
in  Luther  and  Bonaparte! 

Here,  under  date  of  November  21,  1864,  amid  the 
excitement  attendant  upon  his  re-election  to  the  Presi 
dency,  Mr.  Lincoln  found  time  to  write  the  following 
letter  to  Mrs.  Bixby,  of  Boston,  a  poor  widow  who  had 
lost  five  sons  killed  in  battle. 

My  Dear  Madam:  I  have  been  shown  in  the  files 
of  the  War  Department  a  statement  of  the  Adjutant- 
General  of  Massachusetts  that  you  are  the  mother  of 
five  sons  who  have  died  gloriously  on  the  field  of  bat 
tle.  I  feel  how  weak  and  fruitless  must  be  any  words 
of  mine  which  should  attempt  to  beguile  you  from  a 
loss  so  overwhelming.  But  I  cannot  refrain  from  ten 
dering  you  the  consolation  that  may  be  found  in  the 
thanks  of  the  Republic  they  died  to  save.  I  pray  that 
our  Heavenly  Father  may  assuage  the  anguish  of  your 
bereavement  and  leave  you  only  the  cherished  memory 
of  the  loved  and  lost,  and  the  solemn  pride  that  must 
be  yours  to  have  laid  so  costly  a  sacrifice  upon  the  altar 
of  freedom. 

Yours  very  sincerely  and  respectfully, 

A.  LINCOLN. 
169 


The  Compromises  of  Life 

Contrast  this  exquisite  prose-poem  with  the  answer 
he  made  to  General  Grant,  when  Grant  asked  him 
whether  he  should  make  an  effort  to  capture  Jefferson 
Davis.  "I  told  Grant,"  said  Lincoln,  relating  the  in 
cident,  "the  story  of  an  Irishman  who  had  taken  Father 
Mathew's  pledge.  Soon  thereafter,  becoming  very 
thirsty,  he  slipped  into  a  saloon  and  asked  for  a  lemon 
ade,  and  while  it  was  being  mixed  he  leaned  over  and 
whispered  to  the  bartender :  'Av  ye  could  drap  a  bit  o' 
brandy  in  it,  all  unbeknown  to  myself,  I'd  make  no  fuss 
about  it.'  My  notion  was  that  if  Grant  could  let  Jeff 
Davis  escape  all  unbeknown  to  himself,  he  was  to  let 
him  go.  I  didn't  want  him." 

When  we  recall  all  that  did  happen  when  Jefferson 
Davis  was  captured,  and  what  a  white  elephant  he  be 
came  in  the  hands  of  the  Government,  it  will  be  seen 
that  there  was  sagacity  as  well  as  humor  in  Lincoln's 
illustration. 

I  have  said  that  Abraham  Lincoln  was  an  old-line 
Whig  of  the  school  of  Henry  Clay,  with  strong  free- 
soil  opinions,  but  never  an  extremist  or  an  abolitionist. 
He  was  what  they  used  to  call  in  those  old  days  "a 
Conscience  Whig."  He  stood  in  actual  awe  of  the 
Constitution  and  his  oath  of  office.  Hating  slavery,  he 
recognized  its  constitutional  existence  and  rights.  He 
wanted  gradually  to  extinguish  it,  not  to  despoil  those 
who  held  it  as  a  property  interest.  He  was  so  faithful 
to  these  principles  that  he  approached  emancipation, 
170 


Abraham  Lincoln 

not  only  with  great  deliberation,  but  with  many  mis 
givings.  He  issued  his  final  proclamation  as  a  military 
necessity;  as  a  war  measure;  and  even  then,  so  just  was 
his  nature  that  he  was,  as  I  have  shown,  meditating 
some  kind  of  restitution. 

I  gather  that  he  was  not  a  civil  service  reformer  of 
the  school  of  Grover  Cleveland,  because  I  find  among 
his  papers  a  short,  peremptory  note  to  Stanton,  in  which 
he  says:  "I  personally  wish  Jacob  Freese,  of  New  Jer 
sey,  appointed  colonel  of  a  colored  regiment,  and  this 
regardless  of  whether  he  can  tell  the  exact  color  of 
Julius  Caesar's  hair." 

His  unconventionalism  was  equalled  only  by  his 
humanity.  No  custodian  of  absolute  power  ever  exer 
cised  it  so  benignly.  His  interposition  in  behalf  of 
men  sentenced  to  death  by  courts-martial  became  so 
demoralizing  that  his  generals  in  the  field  united  in  a 
round-robin  protest.  Both  Grant  and  Sherman  cut  the 
wires  between  army  headquarters  and  the  White 
House,  to  escape  his  interference  with  the  iron  rule  of 
military  discipline. 

A  characteristic  story  is  told  by  John  B.  Ally,  of 
Boston,  who,  going  to  the  White  House  three  days  in 
succession,  found  each  day  in  one  of  the  outer  halls  a 
gray-haired  old  man,  silently  weeping.  The  third  day, 
touched  by  this  not  uncommon  spectacle,  he  went  up  to 
the  old  man  and  ascertained  that  he  had  a  son  under  sen 
tence  of  death,  and  was  trying  to  reach  the  President. 
171 


The  Compromises  of  Life 

"Come  along,"  said  Ally,  "I'll  take  you  to  the  Presi 
dent." 

Mr.  Lincoln  listened  to  the  old  man's  pitiful  story, 
and  then  sadly  replied  that  he  had  just  received  a  tele 
gram  from  the  general  commanding  imploring  him  not 
to  interfere.  The  old  man  cast  one  last  heart-broken 
look  at  the  President,  and  started  shuffling  toward  the 
door.  Before  he  reached  it  Mr.  Lincoln  called  him 
back.  "Come  back,  old  man,"  he  said,  "come  back! 
The  generals  may  telegraph  and  telegraph,  but  I  am 
going  to  pardon  that  young  man." 

Thereupon  he  sent  a  despatch  directing  sentence  to 
be  suspended  until  execution  should  be  ordered  by  him 
self.  Then  the  old  man  burst  out  crying  again.  "Mr. 
President,"  said  he,  "that  is  not  a  pardon,  you  only 
hold  up  the  sentence  of  my  boy  until  you  can  order  him 
to  be  shot!" 

Lincoln  turned  quickly  and,  half  smiles,  half  tears, 
replied:  "Go  along,  old  man,  go  along  in  peace;  if  your 
son  lives 'until  I  order  him  to  be  shot,  he'll  grow  to  be 
as  old  as  Methuselah!" 

I  could  keep  you  here  all  night  relating  such  inci 
dents.  They  were  common  occurrences  at  the  White 
House.  There  was  not  a  day  of  Lincoln's  life  that  he 
was  not  doing  some  act  of  charity;  not  like  a  senti 
mentalist,  overcome  by  cheap  emotion,  but  like  a  brave, 
sensible  man,  who  knew  where  to  draw  the  line  and 
who  made  few,  if  any,  mistakes. 
172 


Abraham  Lincoln 

I  find  no  better  examples  of  the  peculiar  cast  of  his 
mind  than  are  interspersed  throughout  the  record  of  his 
intercourse  with  his  own  relatives.  His  domestic  corre 
spondence  is  full  of  canny  wisdom  and  unconscious 
humor.  In  particular,  he  had  a  ne'er-do-well  step 
brother,  by  the  name  of  Johnston,  a  son  of  his  father's 
second  wife,  of  whom  he  was  very  fond.  There  are 
many  letters  to  this  Johnston.  One  of  these  I  am  go 
ing  to  read  you,  because  it  will  require  neither  apology 
nor  explanation.  It  is  illustrative  of  both  the  canny 
wisdom  and  unconscious  humor.  Thus: 

"SPRINGFIELD,  January  2,  1851. 

"Dear  Brother:  Your  request  for  eighty  dollars  I 
do  not  think  it  best  to  comply  with  now.  At  the  va 
rious  times  I  have  helped  you  a  little  you  have  said : 
'We  can  get  along  very  well  now,'  but  in  a  short  time 
I  find  you  in  the  same  difficulty  again.  Now  this  can 
only  happen  through  some  defect  in  you.  What  that 
defect  is  I  think  I  know.  You  are  not  lazy,  and  still 
you  are  an  idler.  I  doubt  whether  since  I  saw  you  you 
have  done  a  good,  whole  day's  work  in  any  one  day. 
You  do  not  very  much  dislike  to  work,  and  still  you 
do  not  work  much,  merely  because  it  does  not  seem  to 
you  you  get  enough  for  it.  This  habit  of  uselessly 
wasting  time  is  the  whole  difficulty.  It  is  vastly  im 
portant  to  you,  and  still  more  to  your  children,  that 
you  break  the  habit.  .  .  . 

"You  are  now  in  need  of  some  money,  and  what  I 
propose  is  that  you  shall  go  to  work,  'tooth  and  nail,' 
for  somebody  who  will  give  you  money  for  it.  Let 
father  and  your  boys  take  charge  of  your  things  at 
home,  prepare  for  a  crop  and  make  the  crop,  and  you 

173 


The  Compromises  of  Life 

go  to  work  for  the  best  money  wages  you  can  get,  or 
in  discharge  of  any  debt  you  owe,  and,  to  secure  you 
a  fair  reward  for  your  labor,  I  promise  you  that  for 
every  dollar  you  will  get  for  your  labor  between  this 
and  the  ist  of  May,  either  in  money,  or  in  your  in 
debtedness,  I  will  then  give  you  one  other  dollar.  By 
this,  if  you  hire  yourself  for  ten  dollars  a  month,  from 
me  you  will  get  ten  dollars  more,  making  twenty  dol 
lars.  .  .  . 

"In  this  I  do  not  mean  that  you  shall  go  off  to  St. 
Louis  or  the  lead  mines  in  Missouri,  or  the  gold  mines 
in  California,  but  I  mean  for  you  to  go  at  it  for  the 
best  wages  you  can  get  close  to  home  in  Coles  County. 
If  you  will  do  this  you  will  soon  be  out  of  debt,  and, 
what  is  better,  you  will  have  acquired  a  habit  which 
will  keep  you  from  getting  in  debt  again.  But  if  I 
should  now  clear  you  out  of  debt,  next  year  you  would 
be  just  as  deep  in  debt  as  ever. 

"You  say  you  would  almost  give  your  place  in 
Heaven  for  seventy  or  eighty  dollars?  Then  you  value 
your  place  in  Heaven  very  cheap,  for  I  am  sure  you 
can,  with  the  offer  I  make,  get  the  seventy  or  eighty 
dollars  for  four  or  five  months'  work. 

"You  say  if  I  will  lend  you  the  money,  you  will 
deed  me  the  land,  and,  if  you  don't  pay  the  money  back, 
you  will  deliver  possession.  Nonsense!  If  you  can 
not  now  live  with  the  land,  how  will  you  then  live 
without  it? 

"You  have  always  been  kind  to  me,  and  I  do  not 
mean  to  be  unkind  to  you.  On  the  contrary,  if  you 
will  but  follow  my  advice,  you  will  find  it  worth 
eighty  times  eighty  dollars  to  you. 

"Affectionately  your  brother, 

"A.  LINCOLN." 

Could  anything  be  wiser,  sweeter,  or  delivered  in 
174 


Abraham  Lincoln 

terms  more  specific  yet  more  fraternal  ?  And  that  was 
Abraham  Lincoln  from  the  crown  of  his  head  to  the 
soles  of  his  feet. 

I  am  going  to  spare  you  and  myself,  and  the  dear 
ones  of  his  own  blood  who  are  here  to-night,  the  repeti 
tion  of  the  story  of  the  awful  tragedy  that  ended  the 
life  of  this  great  man,  this  good  man,  this  typical  Amer 
ican. 

Besides  that  tragedy,  most  other  tragedies,  epic  and 
real,  become  insignificant.  "Within  the  narrow  com 
pass  of  that  stage-box  that  night  were  five  human  be 
ings;  the  most  illustrious  of  modern  heroes,  crowned 
with  the  most  stupendous  victory  of  modern  times;  his 
beloved  wife,  proud  and  happy;  two  betrothed  lovers 
with  all  the  promise  of  felicity  that  youth,  social  posi 
tion,  and  wealth  could  give  them;  and  a  young  actor, 
handsome  as  Endymion  upon  Latmus,  the  idol  of  his 
little  world.  The  glitter  of  fame,  happiness,  and  ease 
was  upon  the  entire  group,  but  in  an  instant  everything 
was  to  be  changed  with  the  blinding  swiftness  of  en 
chantment.  Quick  death  was  to  come  on  the  central 
figure  of  that  company.  .  .  .  Over  all  the  rest 
the  blackest  fates  hovered  menacingly;  fates  from 
which  a  mother  might  pray  that  kindly  death  would 
save  her  children  in  their  infancy.  One  was  to  wan 
der  with  the  stain  of  murder  on  his  soul,  with  the  curses 
of  a  world  upon  his  name,  with  a  price  set  upon  his 
head,  in  frightful  physical  pain,  till  he  died  a  dog's 
175 


The   Compromises  of  Life 

death  in  a  burning  barn.  The  stricken  wife  was  to 
pass  the  rest  of  her  days  in  melancholy  and  madness ;  of 
those  two  young  lovers,  one  was  to  slay  the  other,  and 
then  end  his  life  a  raving  maniac!"*  No  book  of 
tragedy  contains  a  single  chapter  quite  so  dark  as  that. 

And  what  was  the  mysterious  power  of  this  mysteri 
ous  man,  and  whence? 

His  was  the  genius  of  common-sense;  of  common- 
sense  in  action;  of  common-sense  in  thought;  of  com 
mon-sense  enriched  by  experience  and  unhindered  by 
fear.  "He  was  a  common  man,"  says  his  friend, 
Joshua  Speed,  "expanded  into  giant  proportions;  well 
acquainted  with  the  people,  he  placed  his  hand  on  the 
beating  pulse  of  the  nation,  judged  of  its  disease,  and 
was  ready  with  a  remedy."  Inspired  he  was  truly,  as 
Shakespeare  was  inspired;  as  Mozart  was  inspired;  as 
Burns  was  inspired;  each,  like  him,  sprung  directly 
from  the  people. 

I  look  into  the  crystal  globe  that,  slowly  turning,  tells 
the  story  of  his  life,  and  I  see  a  little  heart-broken  boy, 
weeping  by  the  outstretched  form  of  a  dead  mother, 
then  bravely,  nobly  trudging  a  hundred  miles  to  obtain 
her  Christian  burial.  I  see  this  motherless  lad  grow 
ing  to  manhood  amid  scenes  that  seem  to  lead  to  noth 
ing  but  abasement ;  no  teachers ;  no  books ;  no  chart,  ex 
cept  his  own  untutored  mind;  no  compass,  except  his 
own  undisciplined  will;  no  light,  save  light  from 

*  Hay  and  Nicolay's  Life. 
176 


Abraham  Lincoln 

Heaven ;  yet,  like  the  caravel  of  Columbus,  struggling 
on  and  on  through  the  trough  of  the  sea,  always  toward 
the  destined  land.  I  see  the  full-grown  man,  stalwart 
and  brave,  an  athlete  in  activity  of  movement  and 
strength  of  limb,  yet  vexed  by  weird  dreams  and 
visions;  of  life,  of  love,  of  religion,  sometimes  verging 
on  despair.  I  see  the  mind,  grown  at  length  as  robust 
as  the  body,  throw  off  these  phantoms  of  the  imagina 
tion  and  give  itself  wholly  to  the  work-a-day  uses  of 
the  world ;  the  rearing  of  children ;  the  earning  of  bread ; 
the  multiplied  duties  of  life.  I  see  the  party  leader, 
self-confident  in  conscious  rectitude ;  original,  because  it 
was  not  his  nature  to  follow;  potent,  because  he  was 
fearless,  pursuing  his  convictions  with  earnest  zeal,  and 
urging  them  upon  his  fellows  with  the  resources  of  an 
oratory  which  was  hardly  more  impressive  than  it  was 
many-sided.  I  see  him,  the  preferred  among  his  fel 
lows,  ascend  the  eminence  reserved  for  him,  and  him 
alone  of  all  the  statesmen  of  the  time,  amid  the  derision 
of  opponents  and  the  distrust  of  supporters,  yet  unawed 
and  unmoved,  because  thoroughly  equipped  to  meet  the 
emergency.  The  same  being,  from  first  to  last;  the 
poor  child  weeping  over  a  dead  mother ;  the  great  chief 
sobbing  amid  the  cruel  horrors  of  war;  flinching  never 
from  duty,  nor  changing  his  life-long  ways  of  dealing 
with  the  stern  realities  which  pressed  upon  him  and 
hurried  him  onward.  And,  last  scene  of  all,  that  ends 
this  strange,  eventful  history,  I  see  him  lying  dead  there 
177 


The  Compromises  of  Life 

in  the  capitol  of  the  nation,  to  which  he  had  rendered 
"the  last,  full  measure  of  his  devotion,"  the  flag  of  his 
country  around  him,  the  world  in  mourning,  and,  ask 
ing  myself  how  could  any  man  have  hated  that  man,  I 
ask  you,  how  can  any  man  refuse  his  homage  to  his 
memory?  Surely,  he  was  one  of  God's  own;  not  in 
any  sense  a  creature  of  circumstance,  or  accident.  Re 
curring  to  the  doctrine  of  inspiration,  I  say,  again  and 
again,  he  was  inspired  of  God,  and  I  cannot  see  how 
anyone  who  believes  in  that  doctrine  can  believe  him 
as  anything  else. 

From  Caesar  to  Bismarck  and  Gladstone  the  world 
has  had  its  statesmen  and  its  soldiers — men  who  rose 
from  obscurity  to  eminence  and  power  step  by  step, 
through  a  series  of  geometric  progression  as  it  were,  each 
advancement  following  in  regular  order  one  after  the 
other,  the  whole  obedient  to  well-established  and  well- 
understood  laws  of  cause  and  effect.  They  were  not 
what  we  call  "men  of  destiny."  They  were  "men  of 
the  time."  They  were  men  whose  careers  had  a  begin 
ning,  a  middle,  and  an  end,  rounding  off  lives  with  his 
tories,  full  it  may  be  of  interesting  and  exciting  event, 
but  comprehensive  and  comprehensible;  simple,  clear, 
complete. 

The  inspired  ones  are  fewer.  Whence  their  emana 
tion,  where  and  how  they  got  their  power,  by  what 
rule  they  lived,  moved,  and  had  their  being,  we  know 
not.  There  is  no  explication  to  their  lives.  They  rose 
178 


Abraham  Lincoln 

from  shadow  and  they  went  in  mist.  We  see  them, 
feel  them,  but  we  know  them  not.  They  came,  God's 
word  upon  their  lips;  they  did  their  office,  God's  mantle 
about  them;  and  they  vanished,  God's  holy  light  be 
tween  the  world  and  them,  leaving  behind  a  memory, 
half  mortal  and  half  myth.  From  first  to  last  they 
were  the  creations  of  some  special  Providence,  baf 
fling  the  wit  of  man  to  fathom,  defeating  the  machina 
tions  of  the  world,  the  flesh  and  the  devil,  until  their 
work  was  done,  then  passing  from  the  scene  as  mysteri 
ously  as  they  had  come  upon  it. 

Tried  by  this  standard,  where  shall  we  find  an  exam 
ple  so  impressive  as  Abraham  Lincoln,  whose  career 
might  be  chanted  by  a  Greek  chorus  as  at  once  the  pre 
lude  and  the  epilogue  of  the  most  imperial  theme  of 
modern  times? 

Born  as  lowly  as  the  Son  of  God,  in  a  hovel ;  reared 
in  penury,  squalor,  with  no  gleam  of  light  or  fair  sur 
rounding;  without  graces,  actual  or  acquired;  without 
name  or  fame  or  official  training;  it  was  reserved  for 
this  strange  being,  late  in  life,  to  be  snatched  from  ob 
scurity,  raised  to  supreme  command  at  a  supreme  mo 
ment,  and  intrusted  with  the  destiny  of  a  nation. 

The  great  leaders  of  his  party,  the  most  experienced 
and  accomplished  public  men  of  the  day,  were  made  to 
stand  aside;  were  sent  to  the  rear,  while  this  fan 
tastic  figure  was  led  by  unseen  hands  to  the  front  and 
given  the  reins  of  power.  It  is  immaterial  whether  we 
179 


The  Compromises  of  Life 

were  for  him,  or  against  him ;  wholly  immaterial. 
That,  during  four  years,  carrying  with  them  such 
a  weight  of  responsibility  as  the  world  never  witnessed 
before,  he  filled  the  vast  space  allotted  him  in  the  eyes 
and  actions  of  mankind,  is  to  say  that  he  was  inspired  of 
God,  for  nowhere  else  could  he  have  acquired  the  wis 
dom  and  the  virtue. 

Where  did  Shakespeare  get  his  genius?  Where  did 
Mozart  get  his  music?  Whose  hand  smote  the  lyre  of 
the  Scottish  ploughman,  and  stayed  the  life  of  the  Ger 
man  priest?  God,  God,  and  God  alone;  and  as  surely 
as  these  were  raised  up  by  God,  inspired  by  God,  was 
Abraham  Lincoln;  and  a  thousand  years  hence,  no 
drama,  no  tragedy,  no  epic  poem  will  be  filled  with 
greater  wonder,  or  be  followed  by  mankind  with  deeper 
feeling  than  that  which  tells  the  story  of  his  life  and 
death. 


1 80 


JOHN   PAUL  JONES* 

I  am  to  tell  you  a  true  story,  as  thrilling  and  as 
romantic  as  any  one  of  the  fictions  of  Walter  Scott, 
as  cut-and-thrust  as  any  one  of  the  melodramas  of  Al 
exander  Dumas.  I  am  to  present  you  a  hero  equally 
valorous  with  Quentin  Durward,  equally  picturesque 
with  Athos,  Aramis,  and  D'Artagnan.  We  shall  set 
out  upon  our  adventures  from  a  little  fishing  hamlet 
on  the  north  shore  of  the  Firth  of  Solway  in  Scotland ; 
shall  sail  thence  to  the  Capes  of  the  Chesapeake  by  way 
of  Jamaica  and  St.  Kitts  and  the  Caribbean  Sea;  and, 
before  we  have  come  to  a  certain  mooring,  we  shall 
get  a  glimpse  of  the  Guinea  coast  and  the  slave  trade. 
We  shall  quit  the  hazards  of  the  deep  for  a  season  to 
set  up  for  a  country  gentleman  upon  an  estate  we  have 
inherited  just  outside  old  Williamsburgh  in  Virginia; 
to  crack  a  bottle  of  Madeira,  it  may  be,  with  Colonel 
George  Washington,  and  to  tread  a  measure  in  the 
giddy  mazes  of  the  dance  to  the  twang  of  Mr.  Thomas 
Jefferson's  fiddle.  Here  the  war  tocsin,  echoing  from 
Lexington  and  Bunker  Hill,  shall  find  us  and  shall 
stir  us  to  action  again;  and,  summoned  by  the  Marine 

*  United  States  Naval  Academy,  Annapolis,  March  7,  1902. 

181 


The  Compromises  of  Life 

Congress,  we  shall  go  to  Philadelphia  to  tell  the 
Continental  Congress  how  to  set  about  the  making  of 
a  navy.  The  resolution  of  Congress  ordaining  the  en 
sign  of  the  Republic  shall  proclaim  our  commission  as 
Post  Captain.  We  shall  loosen  the  first  American  flag 
from  its  pennant.  And  then,  in  our  smart  blue  frock, 
with  its  brass  buttons  and  buff  facings,  having  given 
proof  of  capacity  and  mettle  in  home  waters,  we  shall 
cross  the  ocean  once  more — this  time  in  command  of 
a  frigate — and  shall  carry  despatches  from  the  Rebel 
Government  in  America  to  Dr.  Franklin  in  Paris,  an 
nouncing  the  surrender  of  Burgoyne  to  Gates  at  Sara 
toga.  We  are  but  just  turned  thirty,  mark  you;  as 
handsome  as  the  traditional  prince  in  the  fairy  tale; 
a  trifle  under  height,  but  strongly  knit  and  stalwart, 
with  olive  complexion  and  gray,  eagle  eyes,  and  masses 
of  tumbling  black  hair.  We  have  learned  to  speak 
French  with  just  enough  accent  to  give  piquancy  to 
a  sweet  Scotch  barytone,  modulated  by  long  usage  in 
tropic  and  semi-tropic  climes.  The  good  old  Doctor 
takes  us  to  his  arms — love — lasting,  fatherly  love — at 
sight.  Nay,  there  is  a  great  Duchesse;  a  great,  royal 
Duchesse;  who  does  yet  more  than  this;  for,  rich  be 
yond  the  dreams  of  avarice,  and  romantic  even  beyond 
the  dreams  of  the  French  women  of  her  time,  she  opens 
her  heart  and  purse,  and  gives  us  countenance  and 
money,  and  with  her  own  fair  hand  intrusts  us  with 
the  jewelled  chronometer  of  her  royal  grandsire,  the 
182 


John  Paul  Jones 

most  famous  of  the  historic  Admirals  of  France.  But, 
let  us  not  anticipate  too  much;  let  us  begin  at  the  be 
ginning;  for  it  is  to  John  Paul  Jones,  the  father  and 
founder  of  the  American  navy,  that  I  refer,  and  of 
whom  I  am  about  to  speak. 

For  more  than  a  hundred  years  no  name  in  history 
has  been  subjected  to  a  misimpression  at  once  so 
gross  and  so  general  as  that  of  this  world-renowned 
hero.  In  the  mind's  eye  of  the  casual  reader  he  was 
a  wondrous  sea-fighter  indeed,  but  a  sea-fighter  of 
questionable  credentials.  Even  friendly  historians  speak 
of  him  as  "the  daring  corsair,"  unfriendly  historians 
as  "a  freebooter,"  outright.  "Half  pirate,  half  pa 
triot"  is  the  grudging  epigram  allowed  him  by  neutral 
pens,  having  no  motive  for  malevolence  or  misrepre 
sentation.  In  a  word,  it  is  told  that  he  was  the  merest 
adventurer,  who  played  a  brilliant  but  unimportant 
part  in  the  drama  of  the  American  Revolution,  who 
lived  the  life  of  a  rover  and  died  neglected  in  a  foreign 
land.  What  wonder  that  the  novel-writers  and  the 
play-makers — upon  such  jaundiced  historic  warrant — 
have  wrought  havoc  with  his  fame,  have  done  his  very 
glory  to  death,  in  their  absurd  romances  and  empty 
theatricals. 

Yet  was  the  career  of  this  Bayard  of  the  Ocean,  this 
Wizard  of  the  Briny  Deep,  as  open  as  an  open  book. 
He  was  the  trusted  friend  of  Washington  and  Frank 
lin  and  Jefferson.  His  genius  blew  the  breath  of  life 
183 


The  Compromises  of  Life 

into  the  sea-dreams  of  the  young  Republic,  his  words 
and  deeds  inspiration  to  the  dawning  sea-power  of  the 
New  World.  Although  by  grace  of  his  own  Gov 
ernment,  for  a  little  while  a  Russian  Admiral  and  by 
that  of  the  French  King  a  Chevalier  of  France,  he  held 
but  one  commission,  that  of  the  United  States  of 
America;  and  when  he  died,  the  ranking  officer  of  the 
American  navy,  in  the  splendor  of  a  ripening  man 
hood,  far  and  away  the  most  famous  sea-captain  of 
the  age — rich  as  riches  went  those  days  in  this  world's 
goods — the  French  Legislative  Assembly,  then  in  ses 
sion,  stood  while  the  resolution  to  attend  his  funeral 
was  passed.  Gouverneur  Morris,  the  American  Min 
ister,  who  had  witnessed  his  will  but  a  few  hours  be 
fore  his  death,  was  so  overcome  by  the  tidings  that  he 
took  to  his  bed.  Three  weeks  later  there  came  to  his 
address,  in  Paris,  direct  from  the  hand  of  Washing 
ton,  orders  to  take  charge  of  our  complicated  inter 
ests  in  European  waters — particularly  with  respect  to 
the  Barbary  pirates — and  had  he  lived  a  week  longer 
he  would  have  been  made  Admiral  of  France,  with  au 
thority  completely  to  overhaul  and  reorganize  the 
French  navy.  There  was  what  would  even  now  be 
called  a  considerable  bank  account  to  his  credit,  for 
this  canny  Scotch  laddie  had  been  equally  thrifty  and 
daring,  and  left  a  goodly  property  to  the  two  sisters 
who  survived  him.  Seven  or  eight  years  after  his  death 
it  is  related  that  Napoleon,  stung  by  the  phenomenal 
184 


John  Paul  Jones 

exploits  of  Nelson,  exclaimed:  "Berthier,  how  old  was 
Paul  Jones  when  he  died?"  Berthier  answered:  "I 
think  he  was  about  forty-five,  sire."  "Mon  Dieu!"  ex 
claimed  the  Corsican;  "if  Paul  Jones  were  alive  now 
France  would  have  an  Admiral!" 

John  Paul  was  the  son  of  a  poor  Scotch  gardener. 
He  was  born  in  the  village  of  Arbigland  and  parish 
of  Kirkbean,  July  6,  1747.  He  died  at  Paris,  July  18, 
1792.  During  the  forty-five  intervening  years  he  made 
his  mark  upon  two  hemispheres. 

Solway  Firth  was  his  cradle,  and  before  he  had 
entered  his  teens  he  was  a  sailor.  "That's  my  boy, 
John,"  said  old  John  Paul,  the  gardener,  his  father, 
to  Mr.  Younger,  the  ship-owner  of  Whitehaven,  as  a 
small  fishing-yawl  beat  up  against  an  ugly  squall  in  the 
offing,  "never  fear!  He'll  fetch  her  in.  This  isn't 
much  of  a  blow  for  him."  The  lad  was  only  twelve 
years  old;  but  the  ship-owner  was  so  impressed  that 
then  and  there  he  took  him  off  as  an  apprentice;  put 
him  aboard  one  of  his  trading  vessels  bound  for  the 
Chesapeake,  and  started  him  on  that  career  of  exploit 
and  achievement  which  ended  only  with  his  life.  An 
elder  brother,  William  Paul,  had  preceded  him  to  Vir 
ginia.  This  William  Paul,  adopted  by  a  kinsman  of 
the  name  of  Jones,  had  taken  the  name  of  Jones;  in 
course  of  time  it  was  agreed  that,  if  William  Paul 
Jones  died  intestate,  little  John  Paul  should  succeed  to 
the  inheritance;  and  this  actually  coming  to  pass  ex- 
185 


The  Compromises  of  Life 

plains  how  John  Paul  became  John  Paul  Jones.  Dur 
ing  John  Paul's  life — and  even  after  his  death — some 
very  ridiculous  and  wholly  unfounded  stories — more  or 
less  to  his  discredit — were  told  to  account  for  a  trans 
action  as  commonplace  as  the  transfer  of  property. 
Involved  in  a  contemplated  duel  with  Arthur  Lee, 
which  was  happily  averted,  Lee  exclaimed  to  a  confer 
ence  of  mutual  friends  against  Jones's  origin  and 
change  of  name  as  denying  him  the  recognition  of  an 
equal  under  the  code  of  honor,  when  General  Wayne 
— the  famous  Mad  Anthony — hotly  replied:  "Sir,  no 
one  in  this  country  can  earn  credit  for  himself  by  try 
ing  to  bar  Paul  Jones  from  the  rights  of  a  gentleman. 
It  makes  no  difference  who  his  parents  may  have  been 
or  how  many  times  he  may  have  changed  his  name, 
the  American  people  will  never  sustain  a  man  in  the 
pretence  of  barring  from  a  gentleman's  privileges  the 
conqueror  of  the  Drake  and  the  Serapis!"  As  a  mat 
ter  of  fact,  he  never  changed  his  name  at  all,  merely 
adding  Jones  to  John  Paul,  and  he  was  but  twenty- 
seven  years  of  age  when,  succeeding  to  the  Virginia 
estate,  this  happened.  Immediately  thereafter,  getting 
together  some  cash  of  his  own  out  of  his  seafaring  en 
terprises,  and  being  tired  of  the  merchant  service — per 
haps  disgusted  by  the  slave  trade,  of  which  he  had  a 
not  unprofitable  glimpse — having  made  a  voyage  or  two 
to  Africa  and  back  to  the  region  about  Pimlico  Sound 
— he  resolved  to  give  up  roaming  and  to  settle  down 
1 86 


John  Paul  Jones 


to  the  life  of  a  country  gentleman  and  landed  proprie 
tor  in  what  was  then  a  seeming  paradise  and  the  foun 
tain-head  of  the  Colonial  aristocracy  founded  by  Sir 
Walter  Raleigh  and  Captain  John  Smith. 

There  is  abundant  proof  that  he  was  cordially  re 
ceived  and  stood  with  the  best  while  he  pursued  the 
sylvan  idyl  he  had  planned  for  himself.  A  handsome 
young  fellow,  fresh  from  a  life  of  adventure,  with  land 
and  slaves  and  money,  is  not  held  at  arm's  length  by 
a  provincial  society,  however  exclusive.  Paul  Jones  be 
came  something  more  than  a  local  favorite — a  social 
lion — and  soon  found  occasion  to  signalize  himself. 

Already  the  times  were  out  of  joint.  The  storm  of 
revolution  and  war  was  about  to  break.  Being  at  a 
ball  in  Norfolk,  which  was  attended  by  some  sprigs 
of  His  Majesty's  navy  belonging  to  a  sloop  then  riding 
at  anchor  in  Hampton  Roads,  an  event  occurred  which 
greatly  endeared  Paul  Jones  at  least  to  the  ladies  there 
about.  I  shall  relate  this  in  the  words  of  the  young 
fire-eater  himself.  In  a  letter  to  his  friend,  Joseph 
Hewes,  later  on  Chairman  of  the  Marine  Committee 
and  signer  of  the  Declaration  of  Independence,  written 
the  day  after  the  event,  he  says: 

"The  insolence  of  these  young  officers,  particularly 
when  they  had  gotten  somewhat  in  their  cups,  was  in 
tolerable,  and  there  could  be  no  doubt  that  they  rep 
resented  the  feeling  of  the  service  generally.  As  you 
may  hear  imperfect  versions  of  an  affair  brought  on 

187 


The  Compromises  of  Life 

by  the  insolence  of  one  of  them,  I  will  take  the  liberty 
of  relating  it:  In  the  course  of  a  debate,  somewhat 
heated,  concerning  the  state  of  affairs,  a  lieutenant  of 
the  sloop-of-war,  Parker  by  name,  declared  that  in  case 
of  a  revolt,  or  insurrection,  it  would  be  easily  sup 
pressed  if  the  courage  of  the  Colonial  men  was  on  a 
par  with  the  virtue  of  the  Colonial  women. 

"I  at  once  knocked  Mr.  Parker  down,  whereupon 
his  companions  seized  him  and  all  hurried  from  the 
scene.  .  .  .  Expecting  naturally  that  the  affair 
would  receive  further  attention,  I  requested  Mr. 
Granville  Hurst,  whom  you  know,  to  act  for  me;  sug 
gesting  only  that  a  demand  for  satisfaction  should  be 
favorably  considered,  and  that  he  should  propose  pis 
tols  at  ten  paces;  place  of  meeting,  Craney  Island; 
time  at  the  convenience  of  the  other  side. 

"To  my  infinite  surprise,  no  demand  came;  but  this 
morning  on  the  ebb  tide  the  sloop-of-war  got  under 
way  and  sailed,  it  is  said,  for  Charleston." 

This  Joseph  Hewes,  Jones's  closest  friend,  was  sub 
sequently,  as  I  have  said,  one  of  the  North  Carolina 
signers  of  the  Declaration  of  Independence,  an  emi 
nent  and  patriotic  citizen,  who,  as  a  member  of  the 
Marine  Committee,  became  virtually  the  first  Secre 
tary  of  the  American  navy.  To  the  hour  of  his  death, 
in  1779,  there  was  maintained  between  him  and  the 
young  sailor-planter  a  constant,  confidential  corre 
spondence,  which  clearly  reveals  the  character  of  his 
protege,  showing  him  to  have  been  nothing  of  the 
swashbuckler,  or  self-seeking  soldier  of  fortune,  but  a 
sensitive,  high-minded  man,  full  of  original  ideas  and 
noble  aspirations. 

1 88 


John  Paul  Jones 


From  his  boyhood  Paul  Jones  had  been  a  student 
and  the  keeper  of  good  company.  On  one  occasion  he 
had  the  misfortune  to  be  obliged  to  strike  down  a 
mutinous  sailor,  who,  transferred  to  another  ship,  sub 
sequently  died.  The  youthful  captain,  brought  to  trial, 
was  acquitted.  In  answer  to  the  question,  "Are  you 
satisfied  in  your  conscience  that  you  used  no  more  force 
than  was  necessary  to  preserve  discipline  in  your  ship?" 
Jones  replied:  "Sir,  I  would  say  that  it  became  neces 
sary  to  strike  the  mutinous  sailor.  Whenever  it  be 
comes  necessary  for  a  commanding  officer  to  strike  a 
seaman,  it  is  also  necessary  to  strike  with  a  weapon. 
The  necessity  to  strike  carried  with  it  the  necessity  to 
kill  or  to  completely  disable  the  mutineer.  I  had  two 
brace  of  loaded  pistols  in  my  belt  and  could  easily  have 
shot  him.  I  struck  with  a  belaying-pin,  in  preference, 
because  I  hoped  I  might  subdue  him  without  killing 
him.  But  the  result  proved  otherwise.  I  trust  that  the 
Court  will  take  due  account  of  the  fact  that,  though 
provided  with  pistols,  carrying  ounce  balls,  necessarily 
fatal  weapons,  I  used  a  belaying-pin,  which,  though  a 
dangerous,  is  not  necessarily  a  fatal  weapon." 

Paul  Jones  reached  Philadelphia  at  the  bidding  of 
the  Marine  Committee  of  Congress  July  18,  1775. 
He  was  at  once  taken  into  confidential  relations, 
placed  upon  a  committee  of  experienced  persons  to 
consider  naval  ways  and  means,  and  promised  a  com 
mission  as  soon  as  there  was  official  authorization. 
189 


The  Compromises  of  Life 

There  followed  many  vexatious  delays  and  some  dis 
appointments.  Even  thus  early  sectional  jealousies  be 
gan  to  show  themselves,  and  since  Washington,  a  Vir 
ginian,  had  been  named  General-in-Chief  of  the  army, 
John  Adams,  the  foremost  representative  of  New  Eng 
land,  claimed  the  lion's  share  of  the  navy  captains  and 
got  it.  He  seems  to  have  been  particularly  hostile  to 
Jones.  And  hereby  hangs  a  tale.  The  handsome  Scot 
became  quite  a  beau  in  the  society  of  the  Quaker  City, 
and  of  this  society  the  gayest  centre  was  the  mansion 
of  the  Carrolls,  of  Carrollton,  where  Jones  was  a  con 
stant  and  favored  guest.  At  an  evening  party,  which 
included  both  the  future  President  and  the  embryo  Ad 
miral,  Mr.  Adams,  who  was  nothing  if  not  pedantic, 
undertook  to  recite  in  French  to  a  company  of  young 
ladies  thoroughly  versed  in  that  language  a  fable  of 
Fontinelle.  It  may  be  assumed  that  neither  his  accent 
nor  his  version  was  strictly  Parisian ;  and,  after  he  had 
gone,  the  young  ladies  turned  to  Mr.  Jones  and  asked 
what  he  thought  of  Mr.  Adams's  French,  when  Jones, 
with  something  of  the  superciliousness  of  the  coxcomb, 
along  with  the  audacity  of  youth,  exclaimed:  "It  is 
fortunate  that  Mr.  Adams's  politics  is  not  as  English 
as  his  French,  because,  if  it  was,  he  would  be  a  Tory !" 
The  epigram  cost  him  dear.  An  Adams  is  never  to 
be  trifled  with.  The  bon-mot  in  due  season  reached  the 
ears  of  the  sturdy  old  patriot,  and  when  the  list  of  the 
new  navy  appointments  appeared  the  name  of  John 
190 


John  Paul  Jones 


Paul  Jones,  who  had  reason  to  expect  nothing  less 
than  a  Captaincy,  led  only  the  First  Lieutenants! 

War  equally  upon  sea  and  land  is  a  great  leveller. 
Mr.  Adams  had  his  way.  But,  of  the  "political  skip 
pers,"  as  his  nominees  came  to  be  called,  but  one, 
Nicholas  Biddle,  made  his  mark ;  all  too  soon  gloriously 
passing  from  the  scene;  while  of  the  rest,  the  ranking 
officer  was  dismissed  from  the  service  after  his  first 
cruise,  and  the  others  fell  into  innocuous  desuetude,  sur 
viving  the  war,  leaving  Jones  alone  to  give  the  world 
assurance  that  we  were  possessed  of  a  navy.  It  is  a 
suggestive  coincidence  that  Jones  was  first  to  receive 
his  commission,  that  it  was  he  who  hoist  the  first 
flag  of  the  Continental  Congress,  and  that,  later  on, 
the  resolution  of  Congress  defining  the  Stars  and 
Stripes  as  the  ensign  of  the  Republic  named  him  to 
command  the  crack  frigate  of  the  time.  This  was 
enough.  It  squared  the  account.  Jones  accepted  it  as 
more  than  compensation — as  an  augury  of  the  future. 
"The  flag  and  I  are  twins,"  said  he;  "born  the  same 
hour  from  the  same  womb  of  destiny.  We  cannot  be 
parted  in  life  or  in  death.  So  long  as  we  can  float  we 
shall  float  together.  If  we  must  sink,  we  shall  go  down 
as  one." 

October  17,  1777,  is  a  red-letter  day  in  Amer 
ican  annals.  On  that  day  the  best  accredited,  the 
haughtiest,  and  most  self-confident  of  British  com 
manders  yielded  his  army  and  his  sword  to  the  Amcr- 
191 


The  Compromises  of  Life 

icans.  Outgeneralled  by  Schuyler  all  the  way  from 
Fort  Edward  to  Ticonderoga,  flayed  alive  by  Stark  at 
Bennington,  harassed  from  Bemis  Heights  by  Morgan, 
and  finally  in  the  open  at  Freeman's  farm  and  at  Still- 
water,  beaten  and  dismayed  by  the  intrepidity  and  the 
dash  of  Arnold,  John  Burgoyne  surrendered  to  Ho 
ratio  Gates  at  Saratoga  Springs.  It  was  the  turning- 
point  in  the  War  of  the  Revolution.  It  snatched  the 
cause  of  the  Colonials  from  the  jaws  of  despair.  It 
secured  us  the  alliance  with  France.  That  John  Paul 
Jones  was  the  naval  captain  chosen  to  carry  the  news 
to  Europe  in  the  first  Yankee  frigate  that  ever  crossed 
the  ocean  seems  a  kind  of  disposition  of  Providence: 
for  no  other  man  could  have  done  what  he  did  with 
the  succeeding  opportunity;  and  yet  there  were  both 
method  and  foresight  in  the  circumstance.  Jones  gave 
good  reason  why  an  armed  cruiser  should  be  sent 
abroad.  He  gave  good  reason  why  he  himself  should 
command  her.  In  the  end,  he  more  than  justified  his 
promises.  But  of  that  later  on.  In  the  stanch  frigate 
Ranger  he  sailed  from  Portsmouth,  N.  H.,  and  cleared 
the  Isles  of  Shoals  at  daylight  the  morning  of  No 
vember  i,  1777,  having  received  the  evening  before 
sealed  despatches  from  Congress  to  its  foreign  repre 
sentatives,  and  returning  by  the  courier  that  brought 
them  the  assurance,  "I  will  spread  this  news  through 
France  in  thirty  days."  He  did  actually  cast  anchor 
in  the  Loire  just  below  Nantes,  December  2d,  follow- 
192 


John  Paul  Jones 


ing,  in  thirty-two  days'  time,  an  unexampled  passage, 
and,  posting  direct  to  Paris,  placed  his  priceless  mes 
sage  with  its  accompanying  documents  in  the  hands  of 
Dr.  Franklin  early  the  morning  of  the  5th.  And  here 
begins  in  reality  the  career  of  this  truly  wonderful 
man. 

He  was  now  just  passed  thirty  years  of  age.  He 
was  among  living  seamen  unsurpassed  in  varied,  all- 
around  experience.  His  soul  was  permeated  by  the 
spirit  of  the  Revolution.  Above  all,  he  was  a  man  of 
genius,  of  God-given  genius ;  shaped  and  pointed  by  the 
cool  intrepidity  of  a  level  head  and  the  noble  prompt 
ings  of  an  heroic  heart.  By  a  flash  of  prescience  the 
great  old  doctor  recognized  in  the  handsome  young 
sailor  the  born  leader  of  men.  He  was  hardly  less  a 
captivator  of  women.  Miss  Edes-Herbert  speaks  of 
him  as  "exquisitely  handsome,"  and  of  his  features  as 
"delicate  almost  to  the  point  of  effeminacy."  But  let 
me  read  you  a  more  elaborate  and  precise  description. 
I  quote  from  contemporary  French  authority: 

"A  man  of  about  thirty-eight  years;  five  feet  seven 
inches  tall ;  slender  in  build ;  of  admirably  symmetrical 
form,  with  noticeably  perfect  development  of  limbs. 
His  features  are  delicately  moulded,  of  classical  cast, 
clear-cut,  and,  when  animated,  mobile  and  expressive 
in  the  last  degree,  but,  when  in  repose,  sedate  almost 
to  melancholy.  His  hair  and  eyebrows  are  black,  and 
his  eyes  are  large,  brilliant,  piercing,  and  of  a  peculiar 
dark  gray  tint  that  at  once  changes  to  lustrous  black 

193 


The  Compromises  of  Life 

when  he  becomes  earnest  or  animated.  His  complex 
ion  is  swarthy,  almost  like  that  of  a  Moor. 

"He  is  master  of  the  arts  of  dress  and  personal 
adornment,  and  it  is  a  common  remark  that,  notwith 
standing  the  comparative  frugality  of  his  means,  he 
never  fails  to  be  the  best-dressed  man  at  any  dinner 
or  fete  he  may  honor  by  attending.  His  manners  are 
in  comport  with  his  make-up.  His  bearing  is  that  of 
complete  ease,  perfect  aplomb,  and  also  martial  to  the 
highest  degree;  but  he  has  a  supple  grace  of  motion 
and  an  agile  facility  of  gait  and  gesture  that  relieve 
his  presence  of  all  suspicion  of  affectation  or  stiff 
ness. 

"To  all  these  charms  of  person  and  graces  of  man 
ner  he  adds  the  power  of  conversation,  a  store  of  rare 
and  original  anecdotes,  and  an  apparently  inexhaust 
ible  fund  of  ready,  pointed  wit,  always  apropos  and 
always  pleasing,  except  on  the  infrequent  occasions 
when  he  chooses  to  turn  it  to  the  uses  of  sarcasm  and 
satire.  Next  to  the  magic  of  his  eyes  is  the  charm  of 
his  voice,  which  no  one  can  ever  forget,  man  or 
woman,  who  has  heard  it.  It  is  surely  the  most 
musical  and  perfectly  modulated  voice  ever  heard,  and 
it  is  equally  resistless  in  each  of  the  three  languages  he 
speaks — English,  French,  and  Spanish. 

"It  is  difficult,  when  one  sees  the  Chevalier  Paul 
Jones  in  the  affairs  of  society  or  hears  his  discourse  at 
dinner-table  or  in  salon,  to  believe  that  this  is  one  and 
the  same  person  as  the  ruthless  sea-fighter;  hero  of  the 
most  desperate  battles  ever  fought  on  the  ocean,  and, 
for  the  first  time  in  history,  the  conqueror  of  those 
who  had  conquered  the  sea! 

"In  all  his  personal  habits  he  is  moderate,  not  given 
to  excesses  of  any  kind,  either  of  food  or  of  drink,  but 
always  temperate  and  under  the  most  perfect  self-com 
mand." 

194 


John  Paul  Jones 

Such  was  the  man  who  had  come  to  France  to  bring 
tidings  of  the  first  great  American  victory  on  land,  and 
to  launch  in  European  waters  a  series  of  exploits  un 
exampled  on  the  sea;  to  carry  the  Colonial  rebellion 
home  to  the  very  doors  of  Britain;  to  give  the  world 
assurance  that  the  shadowy  figures  seen  but  dimly 
across  the  Atlantic  Ocean  were  real  men,  and  not  mere 
martial  figures  of  speech  and  myths  of  political  fancy; 
to  confirm  the  French  alliance  which  his  arrival  fore 
shadowed  and  hastened,  and,  dazzling  the  sensibilities 
of  contemporary  mankind,  to  send  a  name  down  the 
ages  to  keep  company  with  the  names  of  Rodney  and 
Drake  and  Nelson. 

Jones  encountered  the  impediments  and  delays  in 
cident  to  the  peculiar  situation  to  which  he  had  at  once 
to  address  himself.  While  he  went  to  Paris,  and  later 
on  made  an  official  though  clandestine  visit  to  Amster 
dam  to  inspect  a  cruiser  under  contract  and  construc 
tion  there,  he  had  left  the  Ranger  in  the  dock-yard  at 
Brest.  When  he  returned  he  found  that  his  second  in 
command,  Simpson,  had  stirred  up  some  dissatisfaction 
among  the  crew.  Indeed,  he  learned  that  Simpson  had 
been  assuming  some  wholly  superfluous  airs  of  author 
ity.  He  lost  no  time  in  calling  Simpson  down.  "Mr. 
Simpson,"  said  he,  "I  command  this  ship.  I  command 
this  ship  by  virtue  of  my  senior  rank,  by  virtue  of  the 
resolution  of  Congress  dated  June  Hth  last,  and 
by  virtue  of  the  order  of  the  Commissioners  dated  Jan- 
J95 


The  Compromises  of  Life 

uary  i6th  last.  But  I  waive  these  considerations.  As 
far  as  you  are  concerned,  I  will  say  only  that  I  com 
mand  this  ship  by  virtue  of  the  fact  that  I  am  person 
ally  the  best  man  aboard,  a  fact  which  I  shall  cheer 
fully  demonstrate  to  you  at  your  pleasure." 

Simpson  was  a  brave  man.  But  he  desired  no  further 
proof  or  parley.  There  was  in  consequence  no  demon 
stration,  and  all  was  made  ready  to  sail  April  loth,  it 
being  now  the  latter  part  of  March,  1778. 

The  day  before  this  important  event  the  Duchesse 
de  Chartres  gave  a  luncheon  to  Captain  Jones  at  her 
villa  just  outside  of  Brest,  where  her  husband,  the 
Duke,  was  in  naval  authority.  This  Duke,  afterward 
the  famous  Philippe  Egalite,  had  met  Jones  three 
years  before  off  Hampton  Roads,  and  a  liking  had 
sprung  up  between  them.  The  Duchesse,  introduced 
to  the  young  Colonial  by  her  husband  himself,  took  a 
fancy  to  him;  a  very  serious  and  lasting  fancy,  as  it 
proved;  a  fancy  that  meant  patronage  and  standing  at 
Court,  and  money;  for  this  royal  personage — royal  by 
nature  as  well  as  by  birth — this  Adelaide  de  Bourbon, 
great-granddaughter  of  the  Grand  Monarch,  and 
mother  of  the  yet-to-be  citizen  king — was  the  richest 
princess  in  Europe.  At  the  luncheon  which  she  gave 
to  Jones  were  the  chief  officers  of  the  French  fleet 
riding  at  anchor  in  the  harbor,  among  them,  of  course, 
the  ranking  Admiral,  Count  D'Orvilliers.  Naturally 
the  company  talked  "shop"  at  table,  and  the  famous 
196 


John   Paul  Jones 


battle  off  Malaga,  in  which  the  Duchesse's  grand 
father,  the  Count  de  Toulouse,  had  commanded  the 
French,  coming  up  for  review,  Jones  showed  such  sur 
prising  knowledge  of  every  detail,  and  defended  so 
skilfully  the  tactics  of  his  hostess's  progenitor,  that,  in 
a  burst  of  enthusiasm  and  gratitude,  she  caused  to  be 
brought  from  her  jewel-case  a  Louis  Quinze  watch  of 
rare  design  and  great  value,  which  her  grandfather  had 
worn,  and  presented  this  to  Jones.  Though  taken 
aback,  the  embryo  hero  had  wit  and  presence  of  mind 
enough  to  say:  "May  it  please  your  royal  highness,  if 
fortune  favor  me,  I  shall  one  day  lay  an  English  frigate 
at  your  feet."  How  faithfully  he  kept  the  promise  we 
shall  presently  see. 

Thus  it  was  that  Captain  John  Paul  Jones  put  to 
sea  in  the  Yankee  frigate  Ranger,  the  Stars  and  Stripes 
flying  from  her  mast-head,  saluted  by  the  guns  of 
D'Orvilliers  as  he  passed  the  French  fleet — the  first 
salute  from  foreign  guns  that  flag  ever  received — and 
thus  he  began  the  career  of  havoc  and  glory  which 
made  his  name  a  terror  to  English  hearts  from  the 
Isles  of  Scilly  to  the  Hebrides,  from  the  Texel  to  the 
Bay  of  Biscay,  a  terror  that  deepened  into  hate,  red 
olent  of  falsehood  and  defamation,  and,  with  narrow- 
minded  and  ignorant  people,  surviving  even  to  this 
present  day. 

This  initial  cruise  in  foreign  waters  lasted  from 
April    loth   to   May   8th,   and   extended   from    Brest 
197 


The  Compromises  of  Life 

Roadstead  through  St.  George's  Channel  northwardly 
and  out  around  Land's  End  and  back  by  the  West 
Irish  coast,  embracing  a  descent  upon  St.  Mary's 
Isle,  the  seat  of  Castle  Selkirk,  and  upon  the  port  of 
Whitehaven,  the  first  to  carry  off  the  Earl  of  Selkirk 
a  prisoner  of  war,  the  second  to  destroy  shipping  assem 
bled  in  Whitehaven  harbor.  The  Earl  of  Selkirk  was 
not  at  home,  and  adverse  winds  limited  the  contem 
plated  destruction  to  a  single  ship.  But  Jones  was 
more  fortunate  in  the  open  sea,  where  late  in  the 
afternoon  of  April  24th  he  encountered  and  cap 
tured  His  Majesty's  sloop-of-war,  the  Drake,  twenty 
guns  and  one  hundred  and  fifty-seven  officers  and 
men,  "after  a  hard-fought  battle,"  as  he  describes 
it,  "of  one  hour  and  four  minutes  pure  and  simple 
broadsiding  at  close  range."  Jones  had  one  hundred 
and  twenty-six,  all  hands  at  quarters,  and  eighteen 
guns.  The  Drake's  battery  embraced  sixteen  nine- 
pounders  and  four  four-pounders;  Jones's  guns  were 
only  fourteen  nine-pounders  and  four  sixes.  The  like 
had  never  been  known  before.  When  Jones  brought 
his  prize  back  to  Brest  the  Frenchmen  could  hardly 
believe  the  evidence  of  their  own  senses.  That  an  Eng 
lish  man-of-war  could  be  made  to  surrender  to  an  in 
ferior  enemy  seemed  inconceivable.  But  there  was  the 
proof  before  their  eyes,  and  from  that  moment  Jones 
was  immortal.  Splendid  were  the  fetes  in  his  honor. 
He  had  swept  the  English  coast;  he  had  made  two 
198 


John  Paul  Jones 

forays  on  English  soil;  he  had  taken  six  prizes,  saving 
three  of  them;  and,  strangest  of  all,  he  had  forced  an 
armed  English  cruiser  of  superior  metal  to  strike  her 
colors,  had  taken  her  bodily  and  alive,  and  had  lived  to 
fetch  her  into  a  French  port. 

I  shall  not  dwell  upon  the  many  things  that  fol 
lowed.  With  all  his  honors  thick  upon  him  he  was 
not,  as  the  old  saying  hath  it,  yet  out  of  the  woods.  He 
had  much  to  encounter;  vexatious  delays  inevitable  to 
French  red-tapism;  numerous  obstructions,  the  off 
spring  of  official  bungling  on  the  part  of  the  American 
representatives;  another  serious  bout  with  poor  Simp 
son,  a  not  ill-intentioned  nor  an  uncourageous  simple 
ton;  some  serious  financial  difficulties  promoted  by 
wrangling  among  the  commissioners  and  the  fiscal  au 
thorities,  and  finally  relieved  only  by  the  belated  sale 
of  his  captures  and  the  realization  of  prize-money  he 
counted  on  and  had  a  right  to,  long  before  he  got  it; 
the  ultimate  loss  of  the  Ranger,  which  was  ordered 
home,  and  a  great  deal  of  wearisome  journeying  be 
tween  Brest  and  Paris.  Jones  carried  himself,  all  the 
circumstances  considered,  with  forbearance  and  forti 
tude.  Franklin  backed  him  from  first  to  last,  even 
John  Adams  concurring ;  but  he  had  to  wait  a  long 
time — more  than  half  a  year — for  the  clouds  of  un 
certainty,  of  suspense  bordering  at  times  on  despair,  to 
roll  by.  His  appeals  to  the  King  of  France,  to  the 
Ministers  and  the  Court,  albeit  supported  by  the  in- 
199 


The  Compromises  of  Life 

dorsement  of  the  American  Commissioners  and  the  yet 
more  potent  influence  of  the  Duchesse  de  Chartres, 
seemed  for  months  to  fall  upon  deaf  ears.  Indeed,  it 
was  at  last  through  the  direct  agency  of  this  noble  lady 
that  Jones  obtained  audience  of  the  King.  It  came 
about  in  the  afternoon  of  December  17,  1778,  and 
lasted  for  more  than  an  hour.  Louis  was  impressed, 
as  all  were  impressed  who  came  in  contact  with 
this  fascinating  man-at-arms.  As  a  consequence  the 
royal  command  was  issued  directing  the  Minister  of 
Marine  what  to  do;  and,  by  the  middle  of  February, 
Jones  was  superintending  the  reconstruction  of  an  old 
East  Indiaman,  Le  Duras,  which  had  been  assigned 
him,  with  permission  to  levy  upon  the  French  for  what 
recruits  he  required,  and  at  the  same  time  by  an  order 
upon  the  Treasury  for  the  necessary  funds  to  complete 
her  armament. 

Despair  was  now  succeeded  by  elation.  The 
Duchesse  de  Chartres,  not  satisfied  with  what  she  had 
done,  sent  for  our  hero  and  presented  him  a  purse 
containing  nearly  fifty  thousand  dollars  for  his  per 
sonal  expenses;  a  sum  equal  in  purchasing  power  to  a 
hundred  or  even  a  hundred  and  fifty  thousand  dollars 
in  our  day.  Five  or  six  years  later,  when  Jones  was 
flush  of  money,  he  proposed  the  repayment  of  this  sum. 
The  Duke  de  Chartres,  now  the  Duke  of  Orleans, 
whom  he  approached  on  the  subject,  said :  "If  you  men 
tion  it  to  her  she  will  dismiss  you  from  her  presence 
200 


John  Paul   Jones 


and  banish  you  from  her  esteem  forever.  She^did  not 
lend  the  money  to  you,  she  gave  it  to  the  cause."  No 
ble,  hapless  lady!  She  deserved  far  better  of  fate  than 
she  received! 

In  honor  of  his  friend,  Dr.  Franklin,  Jones  changed 
the  name  of  his  ship  from  Le  Duras  to  the  Bon- 
homme  Richard ;  and  thus  the  name  of  "poor  Richard," 
the  peaceful  philosopher  of  pre-Revolutionary  fame, 
became  intertwined  forever  with  the  greatest  single 
feat  of  arms  on  land,  or  sea,  of  which  the  annals  of 
battle  give  us  any  account;  fit  associates  indeed,  since, 
next  to  Washington,  Franklin  will  survive  in  history 
as  the  father  of  Colonial  independence  and  the  progeni 
tor  of  the  American  Republic.  When  Jones  finally  set 
sail  it  was  a  little  squadron  he  was  supposed  to  com 
mand;  for  three  other  vessels  sailed  with  him,  the  Al 
liance,  the  Pallas,  and  the  Vengeance.  But,  as  it  fell 
out,  Jones  had  no  real  power;  was  so  circumscribed  as 
to  be  really  master  only  of  his  own  ship ;  and,  as  the  se 
quel  proved,  he  was  very  nearly  destroyed  by  the  Al 
liance,  a  fine  new  Yankee-built  frigate,  commanded  by 
a  certain  Pierre  Landais,  a  half-crazy  adventurer  and 
disgraced  naval  officer,  who,  while  commanding  a  mer 
chant  vessel  in  American  waters,  had  picked  up  a  Con 
tinental  commission  by  chance  and  fraud,  and  who  very 
nearly  ruined  the  expedition.  It  seems  a  miracle  that 
he  did  not;  for,  beginning  by  fouling  the  Richard  the 
first  day  out,  he  ended  by  twice  pouring  into  her  square 
201 


The  Compromises  of  Life 

broadsides  at  critical  moments  during  her  combat  with 
the  Serapis. 

"At  daybreak,  August  I4th,"  says  Jones  in  his  re 
port  to  Dr.  Franklin,  "the  little  squadron  under  my 
orders  sailed  from  the  Road  of  Groix."  The  cruise 
lasted  fifty  days.  It  embraced  a  circuit  of  the  British 
Islands  from  west  to  east,  and  sailing  north  about, 
ended  in  the  Texel  October  3,  1779.  Never  be 
fore,  or  since,  was  there  such  a  cruise,  either  as  to 
obstacles  to  be  met  and  overcome,  or  as  to  dazzling  and 
romantic  achievement.  It  was  sufficiently  audacious  in 
its  conception.  But  in  execution  it  was  sublime,  for 
what  stretch  of  fancy  could  prefigure  the  possibility  of 
a  commander  losing  his  own  ship,  yet  coming  off  from 
the  bloodiest  of  duels  victorious  and  in  possession  of 
the  ship  of  his  superior  adversary? 

This  duel  between  the  Bonhomme  Richard  and  the 
Serapis  was  fought  the  evening  of  Thursday,  Sep 
tember  23,  1779,  between  the  hours  of  7.15  and 
11.30  o'clock,  off  Flamboro  Head,  a  promontory 
which  juts  out  from  the  English  coast  into  the  North 
Sea  very  nearly  opposite  the  Texel,  an  island  port  of 
the  Netherlands.  The  Serapis  was  the  finest  of  Eng 
lish  frigates,  and  but  newly  off  the  stocks.  The 
Richard  was  an  old  East  India  tub,  done  over.  The 
Serapis  carried  guns  that  threw  three  hundred  and 
fifteen  pounds  of  metal  to  the  broadside.  The 
Richard's  guns  would  not  throw  more  than  two  hun- 
202 


John  Paul  Jones 


dred  and  fifty-eight.  The  Serapis  was  manned  by 
three  hundred  and  seventeen  of  the  best  men  in  the 
British  naval  service,  commanded  by  one  of  the  bravest 
and  most  skilful  English  naval  officers,  Captain,  after 
ward  Sir  Richard  Pearson.  The  Richard  was  manned 
by  a  mixed  crew  of  Frenchmen,  Americans,  and  other 
foreigners  picked  up  at  random,  embracing,  all  told, 
three  hundred  and  ten  fighting  men.  In  the  midst  of 
the  action  Jones  had  to  displace  his  master  gunner  on 
account  of  incapacity,  if  not  of  insubordination.  Twice 
during  the  action  the  Richard  was  raked  by  her  con 
sort,  the  Alliance,  commanded  by  the  traitor  Landais, 
and  was  otherwise  so  riddled  as  to  become  nearly  un 
manageable.  After  all  was  over  she  sank  to  the  bot 
tom  of  the  sea.  At  no  time  was  she  a  match  for  the 
Serapis.  The  crucial  point  was  that  Jones  succeeded 
in  locking  his  wretched  hulk  with  the  English  frigate 
hard  and  fast,  and  of  keeping  her  so,  and  then,  re 
ducing  the  battle  to  a  man-to-man  affair,  of  ending  with 
the  complete  ascendancy  of  his  motley  tatterdemalions, 
inspired  by  his  dauntless  spirit  and  deployed  by  his  in 
comparable  skill. 

At  10  o'clock,  after  nearly  three  hours  of  fighting, 
Jones's  gun-room  battery  exploded.  His  ship  dis 
abled  and  afire,  his  flag  almost  shot  from  its  ensign 
gaff  and  trailing  in  the  water  astern,  amid  a  mo 
mentary  lull  in  the  action  the  American  was  hailed 
by  the  Englishman  and  asked  if  he  had  struck  his 
203 


The  Compromises  of  Life 

colors.     "No!"  cried  Jones,  "I  have  only  just  begun 
to  fight." 

The  one  objective  point  with  Jones  was  to  keep  the 
two  ships  locked  together  until  he  was  ready  to  board 
the  Serapis  and  carry  all  by  storm.  The  one  hope  of 
the  Englishman  was  to  cut  loose,  when  his  superior 
guns  would  sink  the  Richard  in  five  minutes.  Seeing 
the  French  commandant  of  marines  quit  his  post  upon 
the  quarter  of  the  Richard's  deck,  which  covered  the 
point  of  the  English  deck,  where  the  chains  of  the  two 
vessels  were  fouled,  Jones  leaped  among  the  panic- 
stricken  marines  like  a  tiger  among  calves.  Thence 
forward  he  commanded  this  exposed  position  himself. 
There  he  stood,  alternately  laughing  and  swearing, 
laughing  in  English  and  swearing  in  French,  as  the 
exigency  seemed  to  require;  with  his  own  hands  firing 
musket  after  musket  as  they  were  loaded  and  passed 
to  him  by  the  men  at  his  side,  until,  having  lost  fifteen 
shot  down  by  his  deadly  aim,  the  English  ceased  to 
make  any  effort  to  cut  loose.  Jones's  cocked  hat  blew 
overboard.  A  midshipman  brought  him  another. 
"Never  mind  the  hat,  my  boy,"  cried  Jones,  "put  it 
back  in  the  cabin.  I'll  fight  this  out  in  my  scalp," 
cool  as  if  on  dress  parade,  with  death  and  destruction 
all  about  him.  Then  there  came  another  peril.  The 
master-at-arms,  John  Burbank,  believing  that  the  Ri 
chard  was  sinking,  opened  the  orlop-hatch  and  released 
two  hundred  English  prisoners  confined  below.  Jones, 
204 


John  Paul  Jones 

enraged,  struck  the  dastard  down.  Fortunately,  not 
exceeding  fifty  of  the  liberated  prisoners  reached  the 
upper  deck.  The  rest  were  held  in  check,  and  finally 
subdued  and  made  to  work  at  the  pumps;  for  the  ship 
was  in  reality  sinking.  Meanwhile,  however,  the  fire 
from  the  Richard's  tops  did  not  slacken,  and  was  most 
effective.  The  English  crew  had  been  steadily  driven 
to  cover  by  this  fire.  Pearson's  lower  guns,  although 
they  continued  to  rake  the  Richard,  were  useless,  be 
cause  they  had  done  all  the  damage  they  could,  and 
swept  but  an  empty  and  abandoned  shell.  It  was  the 
sure  fastening  that  kept  the  Richard  afloat.  Finally, 
between  10  and  u  o'clock,  the  decisive  moment  ar 
rived.  This  was  the  order  of  Jones  to  make  an  effort 
to  drop  from  the  main  yard-arm  of  the  Richard  some 
hand-grenades  through  the  hatch  and  into  the  lower 
tier  of  the  Serapis.  Let  Henry  Gardner,  master  gun 
ner  in  room  of  Arthur  Randall,  wounded  and  re 
moved,  tell  the  story: 

"In  obedience  to  this  I  had  a  couple  of  buckets  of 
grenades  whipt  up  into  the  top,  and  with  Midship 
man  Fanning  and  two  seamen  lay  out  on  the  yard- 
arm  with  a  slow-match. 

"The  hatch  was  not  entirely  open,  the  cover  only 
having  been  slewed  round,  probably  by  one  of  our 
shot  earlier  in  the  action,  leaving  a  triangular  opening 
about  two  feet  at  the  widest  part.  As  the  ships  were 
rocking  slightly  in  the  swell,  it  took  a  pretty  good  aim 
to  throw  a  grenade  through  so  small  an  opening. 

205 


The  Compromises  of  Life 

Still,  Fanning  did  it  at  the  third  trial,  when  a  terrible 
explosion  occurred  in  the  enemy's  lower  tier,  by  which 
the  whole  of  the  hatch  was  blown  open,  and  so  much 
noise,  flame,  and  smoke  made  that  we  at  first  thought 
it  was  the  magazine. 

"We  soon  afterward  learned  that  the  explosion  was 
caused  by  the  powder-monkeys  of  the  enemy  bringing 
up  cartridges  faster  than  they  could  be  used,  and  leav 
ing  them  strung  along  the  deck  in  the  wake  of  the 
guns,  some  of  the  cartridges  being  broken  open  and 
loose  powder  falling  out  of  them.  Nathaniel  Fan- 
ning's  hand-grenade  had  exploded  in  the  midst  of  these 
cartridges,  firing  the  whole  train.  Not  less  than  fifty 
of  the  enemy's  crew  were  killed  or  crippled  by  the 
explosion. 

"After  the  battle  the  prisoners  said,  without  excep 
tion,  that  they  had  no  more  stomach  for  fighting  after 
the  explosion,  and  were  induced  to  return  to  their  guns 
and  resume  firing  only  by  their  strict  discipline  and  the 
example  of  their  first  lieutenant,  who  told  them  that 
if  they  would  hold  out  a  few  minutes  longer  the 
Richard  would  surely  sink." 

The  rest  is  soon  told.  In  the  beginning,  Gardner 
relates,  Jones  had  some  trouble  getting  the  Frenchmen 
to  stand  to  their  guns.  By  this  time  he  had  them 
nearly  crazy  with  excitement.  He  was  scarcely  able  to 
restrain  them  until  he  was  ready  to  board.  At  length 
the  signal  was  given.  "Now  is  your  time,  John!" 
cried  Jones  to  John  Mayrant,  "go  in!"  and  over  the 
rail  they  went,  Mayrant,  though  already  twice  severely 
wounded,  leading  the  way.  The  onset  was  terrific. 
They  swarmed,  like  so  many  devils,  driving  the  Eng- 
206 


John  Paul  Jones 


lish  before  them,  while  from  the  Richard's  tops  the 
murderous  fire  continued.  Pearson  was  a  brave  man. 
He  was  an  able  commander.  But  he  saw  the  futility 
of  further  resistance,  and,  with  his  own  hands  seizing 
the  ensign  halyards  of  the  Serapis,  he  struck  his  flag 
himself.  Catching  a  glimpse  of  Dale,  through  the 
smoke,  on  the  Richard's  quarter-deck,  Mayrant  cried, 
"He  has  struck;  stop  the  firing.  Come  on  board, 
Dick,  and  take  possession."  Then  followed  the  stran 
gest  scene  in  naval  history.  Dale  swung  himself  upon 
the  main  deck  of  the  Serapis,  where  the  brave,  but 
beaten,  Pearson  stood  awaiting  him.  "Sir,"  said  Dale, 
"I  have  the  honor  to  be  the  first  lieutenant  of  the  ship 
alongside,  which  is  the  American  Continental  ship, 
the  Bonhomme  Richard,  under  command  of  Commo 
dore  Paul  Jones.  What  ship  is  this?" 

"His  Britannic  Majesty's  late  battle-ship  Serapis," 
sadly  replied  Pearson,  "and  I  am  Captain  Richard 
Pearson." 

"Pardon  me,  Captain,"  said  Dale.  "In  the  hurry 
of  the  moment  I  forgot  to  state  that  I  am  Richard  Dale, 
and  I  must  request  you  to  pass  to  the  ship  alongside." 

At  this  moment  the  first  lieutenant  of  the  Serapis 
came  up,  and,  observing  Dale's  uniform,  asked  Cap 
tain  Pearson  if  the  enemy  had  struck.  "No,  sir,"  said 
Pearson,  "I  have  struck." 

"Then,"  said  the  English  lieutenant,  "I  will  go  be 
low  and  order  the  men  to  cease  firing." 
207 


The  Compromises  of  Life 

"Pardon  me,  sir,"  said  Dale,  "I  will  attend  to  that ; 
you  will  yourself  please  accompany  Captain  Pearson 
to  the  ship  alongside." 

They  did  so,  finding  Jones  ready  to  receive  them  with 
his  gracious  and  beautiful  courtesy.  The  scene  is  thus 
described  by  Jones  himself : 

"Captain  Pearson  now  confronted  me,  the  image  of 
chagrin  and  despair.  He  offered  me  his  sword  with  a 
slight  bow,  but  was  silent.  His  first  lieutenant  fol 
lowed  suit.  I  was  sorry  for  both  of  them,  for  they 
had  fought  their  ship  better  and  braver  than  any  Eng 
lish  ship  was  ever  fought  before,  and  this  fortune  of 
war  came  hard  to  them.  I  wanted  to  speak,  but  they 
were  so  sad  and  dignified  in  their  silence  I  hardly  knew 
what  to  say.  Finally  I  mustered  courage,  and  said,  as 
I  took  the  swords  and  handed  them  to  Midshipman 
Potter  at  my  elbow:  'Captain  Pearson,  you  have 
fought  heroically.  You  have  worn  this  sword  to  your 
credit  and  to  the  honor  of  your  service.  I  hope  your 
sovereign  will  suitably  reward  you.'  He  bowed  again, 
but  made  no  reply;  whereupon  I  requested  him  and  his 
lieutenant  to  accompany  Mr.  Potter  to  my  cabin." 

The  battle  was  over,  the  victory  won.  There  was 
nothing  now  to  do  but  look  to  the  wounded,  to  bury 
the  dead  and  to  steer  for  port.  Although  it  was  past 
midnight  the  moon  in  a  cloudless  sky  made  it  light  as 
day.  The  Richard  was  cut  away  from  her  fouling 
chains,  the  sea  being  in  a  dead  calm,  and  she  drifted  off 
a  helpless  wreck,  seven  feet  of  water  in  her  hold,  many 
shot-holes  below  the  water-line,  her  guns  disabled,  upon 
208 


John  Paul  Jones 


her  decks  only  a  mass  of  dead  and  debris.  Flames  in 
creased  the  horror  of  the  scene.  Out  of  all  that  crew 
but  one  hundred  able-bodied  men  remained  to  care  for 
the  survivors,  to  hold  the  prisoners  and  to  manage  the 
captive  ship.  Let  Jones  relate  the  last  scene  of  all  that 
ended  the  brief  but  glorious  career  of  the  Bonhomme 
Richard.  I  quote  from  his  diary: 

"No  one  was  now  left  aboard  the  Richard  but  our 
dead.  To  them  I  gave  the  good  old  ship  for  their 
coffin,  and  in  her  they  found  a  sublime  sepulchre.  She 
rolled  heavily  in  the  long  swell,  .  .  .  settled 
slowly  by  the  head  and  sank  peacefully  in  about  forty 
fathoms.  The  ensign  gaff,  shot  away  in  the  action, 
had  been  fished  out  of  the  water  and  put  in  its  place, 
and  our  torn  and  tattered  flag  was  left  flying  when  we 
abandoned  her.  As  she  plunged  down  by  the  head  at 
the  last  her  taffrail  rose  momentarily  in  the  air;  so  the 
very  last  vestige  mortal  eyes  ever  saw  of  the  Bon 
homme  Richard  was  the  defiant  waving  of  her  uncon- 
quered  and  unstricken  flag  as  she  went  down.  And, 
as  I  had  given  them  the  good  old  ship  for  their  sepul 
chre,  I  now  bequeathed  to  my  immortal  dead  the  flag 
they  had  so  desperately  defended  for  their  winding- 
sheet!" 

It  is  so  easy  to  deal  in  superlatives.  But  who  ever 
heard  of  the  like  ?  One-third  less  the  calibre  of  his  ad 
versary,  with  fewer  men  as  to  numbers,  and  they  picked 
up  at  random,  an  old  hulk  against  a  new  frigate,  what 
can  account  for  it?  The  gallant  Captain  Pearson,  of 
the  Serapis,  was  asked  this  question  on  the  court-martial 
209 


The  Compromises  of  Life 

that  followed  the  disaster.  As  a  tribute  to  the  Ameri 
can  navy,  I  must  read  you  his  answer.  It  will  be 
remembered  that,  as  the  action  began,  Captain  Pearson 
said  to  his  next  in  command,  "This  must  be  Paul 
Jones,  and  we  are  going  to  have  trouble."  On  his 
court-martial,  Captain  Pearson  being  asked,  "Has  it 
been  your  experience  that  French  seamen  display  so 
much  stubbornness  and  courage?"  replied: 

"No,  sir.  But  to  be  perfectly  clear  in  this  case,  I 
must  inform  the  Court  that  long  before  the  close  of 
the  action  it  became  apparent  that  the  American  ship 
was  dominated  by  a  commanding  will  of  the  most  un 
alterable  resolution,  and  there  could  be  no  doubt  that 
the  intention  of  her  commander  was,  if  he  could  not 
conquer,  to  sink  alongside.  And  this  desperate  resolve 
of  the  American  captain  was  fully  shared  and  fiercely 
seconded  by  every  one  of  his  ship's  company  without  re 
spect  to  nationality.  And,  if  the  Court  may  be  pleased 
to  entertain  an  expression  of  opinion,  I  will  venture  to 
say  that  if  French  seamen  can  ever  be  induced  by  their 
own  officers  to  fight  in  their  own  ships  as  Captain 
Jones  induced  them  to  fight  in  his  American  ship,  the 
future  burdens  of  His  Majesty's  navy  will  be  heavier 
than  they  have  heretofore  been." 

Was  ever  such  a  tribute  paid  by  one  brave  man  to 
another? 

Thus  ended  the  greatest  sea-fight  of  ancient  or  mod 
ern  times.  To  Europe,  to  the  world,  it  was  a  revela 
tion.  Jones  took  his  prize  into  the  Texel.  He  had  a 
long,  wearisome  time  of  it  thereafter  in  his  diplomatic 
210 


John  Paul  Jones 

and  fiscal  relations;  but  of  his  name  and  fame  and 
standing  as  a  naval  commander  there  could  not  be  and 
there  was  not  the  least  equivocation.  The  King  of 
France  made  him  a  Chevalier  and  presented  him  a 
sword.  Paris  went  wild.  The  doors  of  the  Palais 
Royal,  where  reigned  the  Duchesse  de  Chartres,  soon  to 
be  the  Duchesse  d'Orleans,  flew  open  wide. 

Defying  convention,  the  Duchesse  assigned  a  suite  of 
apartments  to  her  hero  and  entertained  him  as  though 
he,  too,  had  been  born  to  the  purple.  She  gave  a  great 
banquet  in  his  honor.  It  was  at  this  banquet  that 
Jones  fulfilled  the  promise  he  had  made  when,  carrying 
the  chronometer  of  the  old  Count  de  Toulouse  for 
a  timepiece  he  had  first  sailed  in  the  Ranger.  Choos 
ing  an  opportune  moment  he  asked  the  Duchesse  if  she 
remembered  that,  when  two  years  before  she  had  so 
honored  him,  he  had  said  that  if  fortune  favored  him 
he  would  lay  an  English  frigate  at  her  feet.  She  re 
membered  it  well.  Jones  had  the  sword  of  Pearson 
near  at  hand.  Releasing  this  from  its  leathern  case 
ment  and  placing  it  before  her,  he  said : 


"May  it  please  your  royal  highness,  it  would  be 
inconvenient,  if  not  embarrassing,  to  undertake  the 
literal  fulfilment  of  my  promise.  The  'English 
frigate,'  however,  rides  in  the  harbor  of  1'Orient  with 
French  colors  flying  from  her  mast-head.  The  best 
that  I  can  do  to  keep  my  word  is  to  lay  at  your  feet 
the  sword  of  the  noble  officer  who  commanded  that 

211 


The  Compromises  of  Life 

English  frigate.  I  have  the  honor  to  surrender  to  the 
loveliest  of  women  the  sword  surrendered  to  me  by  the 
bravest  of  men — the  sword  of  Captain  the  Honorable 
Richard  Pearson,  of  His  Britannic  Majesty's  late  bat 
tle-ship  the  Serapis." 


To  this  day,  among  the  treasured  heirlooms  of  the 
house  of  Bourbon-Orleans,  this  trophy  is  held  not  only 
as  priceless,  but  as  most  impressive  and  unique. 

Jones  was  now  the  lion  of  the  time,  envied  and  some 
times  feared  of  men,  adored  of  women.  Did  he  fall  in 
love?  Had  he  already  fallen  in  love?  Was  there  a 
place  in  this  fierce  bosom  for  the  tender  passion?  If 
we  take  the  word  of  the  play-makers  and  the  novel- 
writers,  he  must  have  had  half  a  hundred  ladyloves, 
for  each  of  them — and  there  are  quite  half  a  hundred 
of  them ! — saddles  him  at  least  with  one ;  a  true  sailor, 
having  a  sweetheart  in  every  port.  But  history  has 
somehow  failed  to  verify  the  conceits  of  romance. 
The  story  that  he  could  have  had  any  amorous  connec 
tion  with  Catherine  of  Russia  is  preposterous,  though 
there  is  some  reason  to  suspect  that  the  puissant  and  un 
scrupulous  Empress  had  designs  not  wholly  official 
when  she  induced  him  to  lend  her  his  genius  and  his 
sword,  and  made  him  admiral.  The  one  woman  with 
whom  his  name  is  linked,  and  linked  forever — who, 
from  the  hour  she  met  him  just  after  the  famous  sea- 
fight  to  the  hour  of  his  death,  fourteen  years  afterward, 
stood  nearest  him,  and,  figuratively  speaking,  never 
212 


John  Paul  Jones 


quitted  his  side — for  whose  sweet  sake  he  seemed  to 
live,  and,  lest  there  be  some  scandal,  for  whose  future 
he  provided  before  he  went  hence — was  Adele  Aimee 
de  Thelison. 

She  was  a  natural  daughter  of  Louis  XV.  by 
Madame  de  Bonneval,  one  of  the  many  mistresses  of 
that  shameless  monarch.  She  grew  up  in  the  court  cir 
cles,  a  foster-child  of  the  old  Marchioness  de  Marsan, 
and  a  protegee  of  the  Duchesse  de  Chartres.  Jones 
may  have  met  her  before  his  cruise  in  the  Richard.  It 
does  not  appear,  however,  that  any  intimacy  sprang  up 
between  them  until  he  returned  from  that  cruise. 
Thenceforward  she  is  his  bonne  camarade  when  in 
Paris;  his  constant,  confidential  correspondent  when 
away  from  Paris.  He  was  thirty-two,  she  twenty-one 
— relative  ages  which  do  not  allow  us  to  assume  a  state 
only  of  a  platonic  friendship.  Yet  in  the  many  letters 
that  survive,  not  an  incriminating  word.  During  the 
fourteen  years  of  their  relationship,  not  a  breath  of 
scandal.  Evil  to  them  that  evil  think.  This  cheva 
lier,  without  fear  and  without  reproach,  stood  between 
the  very  wind  and  the  royal  waif  the  wind  had  blown 
him.  Almost  in  her  arms  he  died ;  and,  he  being  gone, 
she  disappears  amid  the  mists  that  envelop  the  reign  of 
blood  and  terror  as  though  she  had  never  existed. 
Beautiful  spirit !  sprung  from  a  line  of  kings,  though  it 
may  be  from  a  line  of  courtesans,  to  irradiate  for  a 
while  the  life  of  a  hero,  then  to  fade  away  like  an  ex« 
213 


The  Compromises  of  Life 

halation  of  the  evening  into  the  night  of  oblivion,  leav 
ing  not  a  shade  behind ! 

Would  that  history  could  say  of  Horatio  Nelson 
what  this  chapter  says  of  John  Paul  Jones ! 

I  shall  not  speak  of  the  Russian  episode  except  as  an 
episode,  for  it  was  nothing  more.  The  War  of  the 
Revolution  was  ended.  Jones  had  closed  his  accounts 
with  the  Marine  Committee.  We  had  no  battle-ships, 
nor  need  of  them,  and,  though  he  was  now  technically 
our  ranking  naval  officer,  there  being  no  employment 
for  him,  he  was  free  to  accept  service  of  Catherine;  it 
was  urged  upon  him,  indeed,  by  Jefferson;  though,  as 
Franklin  said  it  must  be,  it  was  a  great  mistake.  "No 
man,"  exclaimed  the  doughty  old  doctor,  "who  had 
learned  his  lessons  of  battle,  as  Jones  had,  in  the  school 
of  liberty,  could  ever  serve  acceptably  in  the  cause  or 
promote  the  aims  of  despotism." 

This  proved  to  be  as  wise  as  it  was  far-seeing. 
Jones's  genius  gained  the  admiration  of  the  great  Su- 
warrow,  with  whom  he  acted  conjointly  against  the 
Turks,  but  that  admiration  cost  him  nearly  two  years 
of  humiliation  and  disappointment,  and  sowed  the  seeds 
of  the  disorder  that  hastened  his  death. 

He  entered  the  Russian  service  as  rear-admiral  in  the 
early  spring  of  1788,  and  on  a  two-years'  leave  of  ab 
sence  quitted  it  in  the  late  autumn  of  1789.  En  route 
to  St.  Petersburg  he  had  been  commissioned  America's 
plenipotentiary  to  Denmark.  Returning  by  way  of 
214 


John  Paul  Jones 


Vienna,  he  was  the  object  of  continuous  distinction, 
finally  reaching  Paris,  which,  more  than  any  other  place, 
had  been  his  home,  the  last  of  May,  1790. 

He  took  up  his  abode  in  a  little  house,  having  a  gar 
den,  in  the  Rue  de  Tournon,  which  he  had  purchased, 
and  here,  with  a  few  brief  intervals  of  absence,  he  lived 
until  the  dread  messenger — not  dreaded  by  him — came 
to  find  him,  his  boots  on,  ready  to  meet  man's  final  foe- 
man  half  way,  and,  as  it  were,  cap-a-pie.  When 
Madame  Arbergne,  his  housekeeper,  entered  his  apart 
ment,  about  9  o'clock  the  evening  of  July  18,  1792, 
Jones  lay  face  downward  across  the  middle  of  his 
couch,  his  arms  outstretched,  one  hand  clutching  the 
counterpane,  the  other  yet  holding  in  its  grasp  the 
watch  which  Adelaide  of  Orleans  had  given  him,  her 
portrait  upon  the  dial,  by  which  he  had  always  timed 
himself  in  battle.  Fit  finale  for  such  a  valiant! 

But  let  us  retrace  our  steps  a  few  weeks.  Jones  on 
his  return  from  Russia  had  found  France  in  convul 
sions.  His  friend,  the  King,  was  a  captive  in  his  own 
palace.  His  other  friends,  Lafayette  and  Mirabeau, 
were  vainly  attempting  to  stem  the  tide  of  revolution. 
Events  swept  onward  with  resistless  velocity  and  force. 
Monarchy  was  gone.  The  convention  was  the  state. 
Although  Jones  stood  aloof,  divided  between  his  love  of 
freedom  and  his  loyalty  to  the  royal  master  who  had 
so  honored  him,  a  man  of  such  resplendent  genius  and 
renown  could  not  remain  obscure.  It  was  purposed  to 
215 


The  Compromises  of  Life 

reorganize  the  French  navy  from  its  foundation,  and 
he  had  been  selected  for  the  task.  Had  he  lived  a  week 
longer  he  would  have  been  commissioned  Admiral  of 
France. 

Just  one  week  before  the  end  a  supper  was  given  in 
his  honor  by  the  leaders  of  the  revolution  at  the  Cafe 
Timon.  Jones,  though  obviously  a  sick  man,  appeared 
to  be  mending  and,  alive  with  intellectual  fire,  was 
never  more  gracious  and  charming.  Cambon  was 
there,  and  Carnot,  Barere,  and  Philippe  Egalite,  his 
old  friend  the  Duke  of  Orleans.  Lovingly,  royally 
they  feted  and  feasted  him.  At  last,  in  response  to  the 
toast,  "The  Coming  Admiral  of  France,"  Jones  rose 
upon  his  feet  and  spoke  to  them.  As  an  illustration  of 
character  this  speech  is  notable ;  as  his  last  public  utter 
ance  it  deserves  to  be  remembered  and  preserved.  Al 
low  me  to  read  it  to  you.  After  a  few  prefatory  obser 
vations,  he  said : 

"You  all  know  my  sentiments.  I  do  not  approve,  I 
cannot  in  conscience  approve,  all  that  you  have  done, 
are  doing,  and,  alas,  intend  yet  to  do.  But  I  feel  that 
I  ought  to  take  advantage  of  this — perhaps  my  last — 
opportunity  to  define  clearly  my  attitude. 

"Whatever  you  do  now,  France  does.  If  you  kill 
my  good  friend  the  King,  France  kills  him;  because, 
as  things  are  now  ordered,  the  group  of  which  a  great 
majority  is  present  here  is  France.  Louis  XIV.  once 
said:  'I  am  the  State.'  You  can  say  that  you  are  the 
State  with  more  truth. 

"My  relations  with  the  people  across  the  Channel 

216 


John  Paul  Jones 

are  known  to  all.  Their  enemies  must  be  my  friends 
everywhere;  those  whom  they  hate,  I  must  love.  As 
all  here  know,  as  all  France  knows,  the  progress  of 
the  French  people  toward  liberty,  and  the  promise  that 
progress  gives  of  new  might  to  the  French  nation,  fill 
the  rulers  of  England  with  alarm  and  resentment. 
The  day  when  this  alarm  will  turn  to  hostility  and  this 
resentment  be  expressed  by  blows  is  not  far  off. 

"When  that  day  comes,  if  I  am  able  to  stand  a  deck, 
I  shall  make  no  point  of  rank.  I  shall  raise  no  ques 
tion  of  political  opinion.  I  shall  only  ask  France  to 
tell  me  how  I  can  best  serve  her  cause. 

"You  have  brought  back  to  my  ears  the  sound  of 
many  voices  giving  forth  the  lusty  cheers  of  brave  men 
in  battle.  Some  of  the  faces  of  those  men  were  of  the 
American  mould;  but  more  were  the  faces  of  French 
men.  Some  of  those  voices  sounded  in  my  native 
tongue,  but  more  in  the  language  of  France.  The 
Richard's  crew  was,  as  you  know,  considerably  more 
than  half  Frenchmen.  I  cannot  be  immodest  enough 
to  say  that  I  found  it  easy  to  teach  them  the  art  of 
conquering  Englishmen.  But  I  trust  you  will  not 
think  me  vainglorious  if  I  say  that,  in  that  combat,  I 
at  least  did  what,  unfortunately,  some  French  officers 
have  not  of  late  years  done — I  simply  let  my  French 
men  fight  their  battle  out.  Now,  I  promise  you  that, 
if  I  live,  in  whatsoever  station  France  may  call  me  to 
lead  her  sons,  I  shall  always,  as  I  have  done,  when 
meeting  the  English  or  any  other  foe,  let  my  French 
men  fight  their  battle  out. 

"Citizens,  we  have  to-day  heard  from  the  lips  of  the 
President  of  your  Assembly  the  solemn  warning,  'Our 
country  is  in  danger!'  That  admonition  has  come 
none  too  soon.  Already  the  hosts  of  oppression  are 
gathering  upon  your  frontier.  It  is  not  the  wish  of 
those  who  wear  the  crowns  of  Europe  that  France 

217 


The  Compromises  of  Life 

shall  be  free.  Not  long  ago  another  country  was  in 
danger.  Its  people  wished  to  be  free,  and  though  it 
was  a  land  far  across  the  sea,  the  hosts  of  despotism 
found  it  out  and  descended  upon  it.  They  were  the 
hosts  of  a  king,  and  some  of  them  he  hired  like  working 
oxen  from  other  kings. 

"The  struggle  was  long.  For  almost  eight  years  the 
sound  of  cannon,  the  glare  of  the  torch,  and  the  wail 
ing  of  widows  and  orphans  filled  that  land.  Truly  it 
was  in  danger.  But  all  that  is  past  now — and  why? 
Because  France,  brave,  ehivalric  France,  alone  of  all 
nations  in  the  world,  interposed  her  mighty  arm  to  help 
the  weak,  and  stay  from  its  smiting  the  hand  of  the 
oppressor. 

"I  have  no  title  to  speak  for  that  country.  But  I 
can  speak  for  one  citizen  of  it.  Count  me  with  you. 
Enroll  me  in  those  hosts  of  deliverance  upon  whom 
the  Assembly  to-day  called  to  rise  en  masse  in  defence 
of  their  lives,  their  liberties,  and  those  whom  they  love. 
I  am,  as  you  see,  in  feeble  health.  Would  that  I  were 
strong  as  when  I  long  ago  brought  to  France  the  news 
of  Liberty's  first  great  victory  in  the  New  World! 

"But  ill  as  I  am,  there  is  yet  something  left  of  the 
man — not  the  Admiral,  not  the  Chevalier — but  the 
plain,  simple  man  whom  it  delights  me  to  hear  you  call 
'Paul  Jones,'  without  any  rank  but  that  of  fellowship, 
and  without  any  title  but  that  of  comrade.  So  now  I 
say  to  you  that  whatever  is  left  of  that  man,  be  it  never 
so  faint  or  feeble,  will  be  laid,  if  necessary,  upon  the 
altar  of  French  Liberty,  as  cheerfully  as  a  child  lies 
down  to  pleasant  dreams!" 

These  are  noble  sentiments.      They  are  expressed 
with  a  freedom  and  lucidity  which  recall  the  manner 
and  method  of  Abraham  Lincoln.     Indeed,  Jones,  who 
218 


John  Paul  Jones 


had  learned  to  speak  and  to  write  as  Lincoln  had 
learned,  slowly,  surely,  and  by  his  own  unaided  efforts, 
much  resembled  'Lincoln  in  the  simple  force,  the  direct 
ness,  and  clearness  of  his  style. 

It  was  not  to  be.  His  course  was  run.  The  after 
noon  of  July  1 8th  he  passed  in  the  garden  of  his  little 
house  in  the  Rue  de  Tournon  surrounded  by  his 
friends.  They  could  not  disguise  from  themselves  the 
ominous  truth;  but  he  was  cheerful  even  to  gayety. 
About  5  o'clock  Gouverneur  Morris  witnessed  his  will. 
Somewhat  fatigued  he  retired  to  his  apartment.  Three 
hours  later  they  found  him  dead. 

When  notice  of  his  death  reached  the  National  As 
sembly  all  proceedings  stopped ;  standing,  and  in  silence, 
the  vote  was  passed  to  attend  his  funeral ;  and,  except 
for  the  chaos  that  followed,  his  mortal  remains,  instead 
of  being  lodged  in  the  foreign  burying-ground  tem 
porarily,  as  was  supposed,  would  have  been  committed 
to  the  Pantheon.  More  than  fifty  thousand  dollars — 
a  great  sum  in  those  days — lay  to  his  credit  in  bank. 
Even  the  King  during  his  illness  had  found  time  out  of 
his  own  sorrows  to  send  him  messages  of  cheer. 

Gouverneur  Morris,  at  once  advised  that  the  great 
admiral  had  passed  away,  was  so  overcome  that  he  was 
struck  down  with  nervous  prostration.  A  few  weeks 
after  a  package  arrived  from  America.  It  contained 
his  commission,  signed  by  Washington,  to  be  chief  of 
the  movement  to  extirpate  the  Barbary  pirates,  along 
219 


The  Compromises  of  Life 

with  a  letter  of  effusion  and  eulogy  from  Jefferson, 
who,  anticipating  this  present  exigency,  two  years  be 
fore  had  thus  written  "the  President"  (that  is  Wash 
ington)  "directs  me  to  say  that  it  does  not  seem  neces 
sary  to  indicate  the  identity  of  that  naval  commander, 
to  whom  all  eyes  would  be  turned  should  the  United 
States  be  able  to  fit  out  a  squadron  of  magnitude  suit 
able  to  form  a  command  for  an  officer  of  high  rank 
and  extraordinary  distinction."  Yet,  in  the  face  of  all 
this,  there  are  those  who  think  he  died  a  stranger  in  a 
strange  land,  obscure  and  poor. 

It  is  good  for  us  as  Americans,  and  it  is  particularly 
good  for  us  upon  the  threshold  of  the  new  century, 
which  has  opened  its  portals  without  disclosing  its  se 
crets  to  us,  to  turn  back  a  century  and  to  retrace  the 
baby  footsteps  leading  from  the  roof-tree  that  over 
hung  Liberty  Hall  in  days  that  tried  men's  souls  to 
the  Arch  of  Triumph  which  spans  the  Campus  Martius 
of  the  Great  Republic  in  days  which  shall  equally  try 
their  wisdom  and  their  self-control.  It  is  good  to  re 
member  what  we  were  in  considering  what  we  are 
and  what  we  shall  be.  We  are  not  likely  to  forget 
Washington,  and  the  statesmen  and  warriors  who  sur 
rounded  him;  nor  Franklin,  nor  Jefferson,  nor  Ham 
ilton.  But  who  shall  tell  us  of  Paul  Jones,  and  the 
heroes  who  served  with  him,  and  the  progeny  that 
succeeded  him?  Who  shall  remind  us  of  Dale  and 
Mayrant,  and  Henry  Gardner  and  the  little  French- 
22O 


John  Paul  Jones 


man,  Girard,  and  of  Decatur,  and  Barney,  and  Bain- 
bridge?  The  Stocktons  and  the  Perrys  came  down 
into  our  own  time,  as  did  Morris  and  Stuart,  and  their 
fame  has — may  I  call  it  so? — a  modern  "tag"  attached 
to  it.  The  "landlubbers,"  being  at  home,  were  able 
to  take  care  of  their  posthumous  interests.  Not  so  the 
simple  sailor  folk;  and  I  go  back  to  the  twilight  time 
of  Paul  Jones,  and  Nick  Biddle  and  Preble  and  old 
Isaac  Hull  and  the  rest,  with  a  feeling  that  I  am  in 
some  sort  their  attorney  before  the  court  of  last  resort. 
The  mists  of  the  oceans  envelop  them.  The  moon 
beams  and  the  stars  shine  for  them  by  night.  But  the 
light  of  the  sun  in  the  meridian  of  his  glory  has  failed 
somehow  to  blaze  down  upon  the  page  that  bears  their 
names  and  deeds.  I  would  recall  them  to  you.  At- 
this  moment,  when  we  are  passing — nay,  when  we  have 
already  passed — from  the  humiliating  position  of  a 
huddle  of  provincial  sovereignities  into  the  wide  open 
sea,  freighted  by  the  movements  of  mankind — a  World 
Power — and  the  greatest  of  World  Powers — let  us  not 
forget  the  homespun  sources  of  our  being,  nor  the  men 
who  laid  the  sure  foundations  on  which  we  stand. 

It  was  the  navy  in  the  War  of  1812  that  secured  us 
a  footing  in  the  court  of  arms.  It  was  the  navy  in 
the  sectional  war,  through  its  blockade  of  the  South 
ern  ports,  that  made  the  Confederacy  impossible. 
What  shall  I  say  that  has  not  been  said  of  Dewey  and 
Manila?  And  of  Santiago,  the  finishing  stroke?  The 

221 


The  Compromises  of  Life 

lads  we  send  out  from  Annapolis  do  their  work  far 
away  from  their  base.  They  have  the  opportunity  to 
make  few  friends,  and  no  partisans  on  shore.  But,  in 
proportion  as  they  are  removed  from  the  direct  vision 
of  their  own  countrymen,  they  are  brought  under  the 
direct  vision  of  the  world  at  large.  They  are  not 
vedettes ;  because  they  are  not  under  orders  to  run  away 
at  the  first  fire.  They  are  not  pickets;  because  they 
must  sustain  the  brunt  of  the  attack,  and  sometimes 
all  the  attack,  without  support.  They  cannot  get 
away.  Except  as  the  winds  and  the  waves  direct,  they 
must  stand  and  fight.  Paul  Jones  began  it.  Dewey 
and  Sampson  and  Schley  and  Evans  ended  it ;  and  there 
are  "others,"  as  the  saying  hath  it,  not  forgetting  Hob- 
son  and  Victor  Blue.  Forgive  me!  I  did  not  mean 
to  be  personal.  I  mean  merely  that  the  navy  of  the 
United  States  has  not  had  just  quite  its  "even"  with 
the  army;  that  it  has  a  right  to  it;  and  that  in  the 
coming  years,  when  what  our  great  Mahan  calls  "sea 
power"  has  come  to  be  understood,  it  will  get  it;  and, 
when  it  gets  it,  though  Decatur,  the  Perrys,  and  Far- 
ragut  will  stand  high,  and  Porter  will  stand  high,  and 
Dewey  will  stand  high,  the  name  of  John  Paul  Jones, 
even  like  that  of  Abou  Ben  Adhem,  "will  lead  all  the 
rest." 


222 


Ill 

ADDRESSES 


223 


THE  AMERICAN  NEWSPAPER* 

It  will  not  be  considered  irrelevant,  I  trust,  if, 
standing  in  the  presence  of  an  association  of  editors, 
I  proclaim  a  long-cherished  and  well-defined  belief  in 
societies  which  build  themselves  upon  the  noble  prin 
ciple  of  mutual  admiration;  nor  will  you  charge  me 
with  an  excess  of  loyalty  if  I  add  that,  while  respect 
ing  them  the  more  the  larger  and  the  stronger  they  be 
come,  I  am  by  no  means  indifferent  to  their  advan 
tages  where  they  are  not  so  imposing  and  numerous, 
but  happen  to  be  reduced  within  the  compass  of  quad 
rilateral  lines.  Because,  my  friends,  all  considerable 
eminence  springs  in  a  measure  out  of  that  which  is 
called  in  common  life  the  co-operative  system.  We 
are  living  in  an  epoch  not  of  miracles  but  of  mechan 
ics;  of  multitudinous  social,  scientific,  and  professional 
complexities;  and  instead  of  its  being  true  that  a  man 
of  parts  gets  on  faster  and  fares  better  without  assist 
ance  and  encouragement,  the  reverse  is  true.  One 
mind  aids  another;  one  hand  holds  up  another;  one 
heart  cheers  another;  and,  as  a  man  is  really  an  able  " 
man,  the  greater  need  and  use  he  has  for  his  supports, 

*  Indiana  Press  Association,  Indianapolis,  May  I,  1873. 
225 


The  Compromises  of  Life 

for  that  reserved  force,  without  which  battles  could 
never  be  .won,  nor  great  edifices  constructed,  nor  po 
litical  organisms  set  in  motion,  nor  newspapers  made 
up  and  issued.  Neither  is  this  indispensable  help 
purely  muscular  and  artificial;  it  is  often  spiritualistic 
and  intellectual,  illustrating  the  homely  saying  that 
"two  heads  are  better  than  one,  though  one  is  a  sheep's 
head." 

.  Men  of  genius  have  in  all  times  sought  association 
and  moved  in  clusters.  There  was  the  Shakespearean 
cluster;  there  was  the  cluster  which  collected  itself 
about  the  figure  of  old  Sam  Johnson;  and  there  is  in 
our  day  and  country  a  notable  cluster  circling  around 
Agassiz  and  giving  to  Boston  the  title  of  the  Modern 
Athens;  a  mutual  admiration  society  which  Holmes 
has  boldly  avowed  and  defended,  but  which  wants  for 
no  defence,  being  a  most  natural  and  reasonable  broth 
erhood  of  poets,  savants,  and  men  of  affairs.  This  so 
ciety  has  been  represented  in  courts,  in  senates,  and  in 
cabinets,  and  its  members,  scarcely  more  by  the  special 
gifts  of  each  than  by  the  honest  help  and  appreciation 
of  all,  are  known  throughout  the  world. 

You  will  recall  that  the  lion  in  the  fable,  who  was 
shown  a  picture  representing  one  of  his  race  lying  pros 
trate  beneath  the  foot  of  a  triumphant  human  animal, 
observed,  in  his  facetious,  leonine  way,  that  the  situa 
tion  would  be  reversed  if  a  lion,  instead  of  a  mortal, 
had  been  the  artist.  Now  it  is  given  the  journalist  to 
226 


The  American  Newspaper 

be  at  once  the  lion  and  the  artist,  a  creator  and  a  critic; 
to  depict  his  own  profession;  to  extol  and  magnify  it; 
to  write  it  up,  as  the  saying  goes;  and,  despite  some 
occasional  delinquencies  and  disfigurements  in  his 
method,  he  has  used  this  advantage  so  industriously 
and  at  times  so  skilfully  that  journalism  has  come  to 
be  what  it  was  not  when  he  first  gave  out  the  conceit — 
"a  veritable  Fourth  Estate."  The  freedom  of  the 
press,  obtained  at  length  even  more  securely  by  the 
victories  it  is  achieving  over  dependence  and  subsidy 
than  by  the  liberality  of  the  laws  which  guarantee  it, 
is  a  sort  of  popular  religion ;  and  so  truly  is  our  journal 
ism  realizing  the  pretty  commonplaces  with  which  it 
once,  in  the  days  of  its  bondage  and  gloom,  consoled 
itself,  so  thoroughly  is  it  coming  to  reflect  the  thoughts, 
the  customs,  and  the  manners  of  the  age,  and  to  be 
actually  and  not  figuratively 

— "a  map  of  busy  life, 
Its  fluctuations  and  its  vast  concerns," 

that  thoughtful  people,  paraphrasing  the  race-course 
epigram  of  Randolph  of  Roanoke,  are  beginning  to  ask, 
if  the  press  controls  the  country  who  is  to  control  the 
press?  It  is  this  suggestive  inquiry,  considered  both 
as  a  matter  of  professional  ethics  and  a  question  of 
popular  interest — considered  with  reference  to  the 
strength  and  weakness  of  American  journalism,  its 
power  and  its  shortcoming,  what  it  is  and  what  it  is 
227 


The  Compromises  of  Life 

like  to  be — to  which  I  shall  ask  your  attention  and  beg 
your  indulgence ;  for,  potential  as  the  press  undoubtedly 
is,  and  immensely  elevated  in  its  conditions  and  per 
spectives,  I  suppose  none  of  us  will  pretend  that  it  is 
not  the  subject  of  many  drawbacks  and  abuses. 

I  am  fully  persuaded  that,  take  it  for  all  and  all,  the 
journalism  of  America  is  the  very  best  in  the  world. 
It  is  a  complete  answer  to  the  ancient  sneer  of  the 
cockneys  touching  our  books,  for,  in  truth,  it  is  begin 
ning  largely  to  constitute  our  literature.  I  do  not 
mean  to  disparage  Longfellow  and  Whittier  and  Low 
ell,  Motley  and  Bancroft;  and  I  hope  I  shall  not  be 
suspected  of  seeking  to  steal  a  titular  distinction  for  our 
craft  at  the  expense  of  our  greatest  humorist,  if  I  de 
clare  that  the  morning  paper  is  the  only  autocrat  of  the 
breakfast-table.  When  I  consider  the  labor  and  the 
learning  that  are  devoted  to  books  which  will  be  for 
tunate  if  they  get  eight  or  ten  thousand  readers,  and  ob 
serve  the  increasing  audiences  which  are  gathering  about 
the  bulletin-boards,  I  mourn  in  silence,  but  in  sorrow,  at 
the  sight  of  such  young  men  as  Bret  Harte  and  Joaquin 
Miller  and  Mark  Twain  throwing  themselves  away, 
and  I  rejoice  and  am  exceeding  glad  in  the  salvation 
to  journalism  and  the  world  of  a  soul  so  precious  as 
that  of  John  Hay.  Badinage  aside,  my  serious  mean 
ing  is  that  every  age  has  its  interpreter;  there  was  the 
age  of  the  drama;  there  was  the  age  of  the  pamphlet; 
there  was  the  age  of  the  novel.  This  is  the  age  of  the 
228 


The  American  Newspaper 

newspaper.     The  journalist  is  to-day  what  but  a  little 
while  ago  the  novelist  was;  what  a  little  while  before 
that  the  dramatist  was,  the  observed  of  all  observers,  for 
he  is  an  exceptional  creature,  a  new  creation,  a  man,  in 
deed,  like  his  fellow-men,  but  possessed  with  strange, 
invisible  powers,  which  affect  men's  lives,  fortunes,  and 
characters;  not  merely  an  abstract  and  brief  chronicle 
of  the  time,  as  the  player  used  to  be  said  to  be;  some 
thing  other  than  a  myth  or  an  almanac.     There  will 
never  again  be  a  Dickens  or  a  Dumas.    The  romance  of 
yesterday,  with  its  moving  incidents  and  real  figures, 
will  engage  the  interest  of  vigorous  writers  as  they  en 
gage  that  of  the  public,  and,  as  fictitious  situations  and 
conditions  are  nearly,  if  not  quite,  exhausted,  actual  sit 
uations  and  conditions,  brilliantly  written  out  for  the 
daily  newspaper,  will  take  the  place  of  imaginary  scenes 
and  passions.     I  am  myself,  at  this  moment,  diligently 
seeking  for  a  young  Thackeray  to  sketch  society ;  for  a 
young  Cooper,  to  go  upon  the  frontier  and  "do"  the 
Modocs ;  for  a  young  "Boz,"  to  take  the  place  of  a  very 
inadequate  police  reporter ;  and  for  a  young  Bulwer  to 
do  duty  as  a  general  utility  man.    I  make  no  doubt  of 
finding  what  I  want;  and  the  likelihood  is  that,  when 
found,  they  will  issue  from  strange  places,  just  as  there 
is  the  certainty  that  they  will  enter  upon  a  broad,  new 
field    with    boundless    opportunities.      What   a    "hit" 
George  Alfred  Townsend  made;  then  Don  Piatt;  and 
along  with  them  McCullagh.     Did  Thackeray  ever  do 
229 


The  Compromises  of  Life 

wittier  work  than  Don  Piatt?  Did  ever  Dickens 
write  more  graphically  than  George  Alfred  ?  Was  not 
McCullagh  more  quoted,  did  he  not  exercise  a  greater 
influence  on  his  country  by  his  letters,  than  any  writer 
of  his  time?  Yet  they  are  but  crude  examples;  they 
worked  in  the  dark;  they  worked  much  against  them 
selves,  like  the  old  poets,  like  Marlowe,  Decker,  and 
Otway,  who  were  half  ashamed  of  their  calling,  and 
held  in  disrepute  by  those  who  were  not  fit  to  tie  their 
shoe-strings.  I  name  them  to  illustrate  what  may  be 
done  by  men  of  genius,  who  have  not  a  financial  stake 
jn  the  press,  and  do  not  own  and  manage  newspapers, 
getting  their  fame  and  their  fortune  off  the  brains  of 
obscure,  ill-paid  subordinates.  As  Congreve  and  Sheri 
dan  were,  as  Dickens  and  Thackeray  were,  the  journal 
ist  may  be,  and  partly  is,  already;  a  man  in  whom  a 
public  interest,  great  or  less,  according  to  his  genius,  is 
taken ;  a  man  who,  loving  his  fellow-men,  has  it  in  his 
power  to  help  them  and  to  be  loved  by  them. 

The  process  is  very  simple.  To  be  kindly,  honest, 
fearless,  capable,  that  is  all ;  and  I  name  kindliness  first, 
because  if  a  newspaper  would  be  popular  it  must,  like 
an  individual,  carry  a  pleasant  aspect ;  it  must  be  amia 
ble  and  unpretentious ;  speaking  the  language  and  wear 
ing  the  habiliments  of  the  people;  bone  of  their  bone 
and  flesh  of  their  flesh,  a  sincere  as  well  as  an  effective 
deliverer  of  their  thoughts,  wishes,  and  fancies.  If 
Shakespeare  lived  in  our  time,  conceiving  him  to  have 
230 


The  American  Newspaper 

been  a  robust,  blithe,  and  hearty  person ;  conceiving  him 
to  have  been  what  we  understand  by  an  able  person  and 
an  able-bodied,  and,  withal,  a  most  representative,  gay, 
and  festive  person,  I  take  leave  to  doubt  whether  he 
would  find  the  drama  the  best  vehicle  for  his  overflow 
ing  wisdom,  his  exuberant  wit,  humor,  and  fancy,  his 
amazing  activity;  and  I  wonder  that  a  man  of  such 
varied  and  large  resources,  of  such  vigorous,  current, 
and  racy  faculties  as  Dion  Boucicault  should  be  com 
paratively  a  poor  man,  wandering  about  the  world  and 
writing  plays,  when  he  might  be,  had  he  bent  himself 
that  way,  the  editor  of  the  London  Times. 

I  do  not  name  the  London  Times  as  a  first-rate 
example  of  a  first-class  newspaper.  There  is  no  journal 
of  the  first  class  in  London.  I  am  not  able  to  say 
what  the  Times  may  have  been  in  the  days  of  Mr. 
Kinglake's  somewhat  apocryphal,  shrewd,  idle  clergy 
man,  who  made  it  his  business  to  loiter  about  places 
of  common  resort  and  find  out  what  people  thought 
upon  the  principal  topics  of  the  time.  The  press  of 
London  is,  and  has  been,  since  I  became  acquainted 
with  it,  a  pretentious  jumble  of  incompletions ;  very 
polished  and  very  dull ;  reminding  one  of  those  elabo 
rate  dramatic  compositions  which  are  said  to  be  writ 
ten  for  the  closet.  I  doubt  whether  it  is  not  at  its 
best,  and  wholly  discredit  the  story  of  the  parson,  or  at 
least  the  parson's  knack  of  catching  the  popular 
thought  by  lounging  about  the  clubs  and  then  of  com- 
231 


The  Compromises  of  Life 

municating  it  to  a  stilted  person,  seated  on  a  tripod,  to 
be  thence  distilled  into  England's  next  day's  cup  of 
coffee.  You  might  as  well  put  an  ear-trumpet  to  a  rose 
and  expect  to  draw  its  essence  as  hope  to  gather  the 
public  sense  in  that  way — 

"To  catch  a  dragon  in  a  cherry  net, 
To  trip  a  tigress  with  a  gossamer, 
Were  wisdom  to  it." 

That  which  makes  the  journalist  strong  is  that  which 
makes  the  poet  inspired,  the  inner  light,  the  intuitive 
faculty  to  interpret,  which  cannot  be  had  of  books  or 
be  got  from  loafers,  no  matter  how  observant  and  as 
tute  they  be;  it  is  a  faculty  which  can  indeed  be  cul 
tivated  ;  but  it  is,  in  its  origin,  a  mirrory,  mercurial  es 
sence,  the  vivider  as  it  is  the  purer,  reflecting  without 
consciousness  and  almost  without  effort,  and  accurately 
reflecting,  the  average  mood  and  tense,  themselves  de 
pendent  on  average  commonplaces  of  interest  and  af 
fection — of  the  men  and  women  in  whose  midst  the 
journalist  lives,  moves,  and  has  his  being.  Defoe, 
Steele,  and  Addison  were  journalists  in  this  sense; 
Swift  and  Cobbett  were  partly  so;  and,  in  our  time, 
differing  chiefly  in  their  outward  signs  and  tokens,  in 
their  visible  manifestations  and  eccentricities,  Greeley, 
Bennett,  and  Raymond  were  eminently  so. 

In  the  hands  of  these  the  press  of  New  York  sped 
beyond  the  press  of  London,  which  lacks  special  vigor 
232 


The  American  Newspaper 

and  inspiration,  is  edited  by  cultivated  subalterns  at 
second-hand,  and,  for  all  its  rotundity  and  pretended 
composure,  is  in  a  perpetual  strain  after  heavy,  beef- 
eating  effects,  deficient  at  once  in  naturalness  and  hu 
mor.  As  Fox  said  of  Thurlow,  one  feels  disposed  to 
say  of  the  London  press,  it  is  not  in  nature  to  be  as 
wise  as  it  looks  to  be;  albeit,  if  we  are  to  have  vacuity 
and  pretence,  it  is  well  to  have  it  well-clad  and  well- 
bred,  which  elements  of  respectability  form  half  the 
prestige  and  all  the  attraction  of  this  able,  dreary,  and 
portentous  element  in  journalism. 

It  can  be  said  of  the  American  press,  on  the  other 
hand,  just  as  Thackeray  and  Taine  have  said  of  the 
writings  of  Henry  Fielding,  that  the  cloth  is  none  of 
the  cleanest,  and  that  the  dishes  might  be  better 
chosen;  indeed,  that  the  company  makes  but  a  small 
show  of  courtliness  and  is  often  vulgar  and  ill-man 
nered;  but,  on  the  whole,  that  it  has  a  jovial,  happy  * 
faculty  of  standing  by  the  weak  and  resisting  the 
strong,  of  satirizing  the  wicked,  exposing  the  base,  de 
tecting  the  false,  and  cheering  the  unfortunate,  which 
could  only  come  to  a  press  whose  roots  are  nourished 
by  a  free  soil,  and  whose  great  boughs,  spreading  out 
wider  and  thicker,  shelter  a  free  people. 

We  have  heard  a  deal  of  late  years  about  personal 
and  impersonal  journalism.     In  the  press  of  America, 
we  must  needs  have  an  abundance  of  personal  journal 
ism  ;  it  is  an  appendage  to  our  condition  as  well  as  an 
233 


The  Compromises  of  Life 

offspring  of  our  character.  During  our  civil  war,  it 
was  remarked  by  foreign  officers  of  experience  who  had 
come  here  to  observe  the  progress  of  military  events 
that  individual  valor  not  merely  counts  for  more  with 
us  than  with  European  armies,  but  is  required  by  our 
soldiery,  who  keep  a  close  watch  on  their  leaders. 
This  is  a  Republican  habit,  and,  as  far  as  editors  are 
concerned,  it  is  rendered  the  more  scrutinizing  and  in 
evitable  by  the  comparative  smallness  of  our  towns, 
which  are  not  large  enough  to  afford  concealment  to 
an  individual  occupying  an  important  local  place. 
Those  who  read  a  newspaper  are  pretty  sure  to  find 
out  who  it  is  that  edits  it;  there  is  no  possible  escape; 
the  man's  simple  comings  in  and  goings  out  will  dis 
cover  him;  and  just  as  he  happens  to  be  a  person  of 
exceptional  character  or  characteristics  is  he  likely  to 
be  marked  and  talked  of,  until,  being  presently  very 
well  known,  and  having  himself  charged  with  all  the 
virtues  and  all  the  offences  of  his  journal,  he  is,  invol 
untarily,  a  personal  journalist. 

If  you  will  but  consider  it  for  a  moment,  you  will 
agree  with  me  that  James  Gordon  Bennett  was  as  per 
sonal  in  his  journalism,  throwing  as  many  of  his  pe 
culiarities  into  it,  as  Horace  Greeley;  they  differed  in 
kind  and  in  degree;  but  both  after  their  fashion  were 
known,  personally  known,  and  neither  could  nor  de 
sired  to  hide  himself. 

Even  Mr.  Greeley's  successor,  though  scarcely  warm 
234 


The  American  Newspaper 

in  his  seat  and  an  exceptionally  young  and  retiring 
man,  is  familiarly  known  by  name  and  countenance  to 
the  great  body  of  American  readers ;  and  I  confess  that, 
considering  the  case  from  this  standpoint,  I  am  unable 
to  see  how  men  like  Marble,  Dana,  Bowles,  White, 
and  Halstead,  filling  the  places  they  do,  could,  no  mat 
ter  how  ardently  they  might  wish  it,  envelop  them 
selves  in  the  mystery  which  surrounds  the  work-a-day 
drudge  who  forges  thunder-bolts  for  the  London 
Times.  Nor  does  this  seem  to  me  a  thing  to  be  de 
sired  either  by  the  journalist  or  by  his  readers.  Be 
coming  modesty  and  self-denial,  joined  to  absolute  dis 
interestedness  in  the  public  service,  are  all  that  should 
be  sought;  because  the  very  nature  of  the  journalist's 
vocation  obliges  him  to  be  a  man  of  action,  to  be  in  the 
midst  of  affairs  if  not  a  part  of  them,  to  be  ready,  reso 
lute,  and  personally  informed — qualities  not  to  be 
found  in  the  recluse  or  the  dummy. 

When  I  say  that  the  journalist  must  be  a  man  of 
action,  I  do  not  mean  that  he  should  seek  office. 

The  functions  of  the  politician  and  the  journalist 
are  totally  different.  There  is  a  yet  stronger  reason 
why  the  success  of  the  journalist  in  politics  must  and 
will  always  be  abridged;  the  journalist  who  is  con 
scientious  and  independent  cannot  be  a  strict  partisan, 
cannot  establish  a  definite  partisan  claim  by  undoubt- 
ing  party  work,  and  is  sure  to  raise  up  against  himself 
many  bitter  enemies,  who  are  powerless  to  injure  him 
235 


The  Compromises  of  Life 

in  his  walk  in  life,  but  who  are  able  to  thwart  him 
when  he  quits  his  intrenchments  and  gives  them  a 
chance  on  their  own  ground. 

There  is  impersonal  journalism  in  England,  because 
the  English  press  is  conducted  by  scholarly  dummies, 
who,  dwelling  in  London,  to  which  the  press  is  mainly 
confined,  are  able  to  live  reclusive  lives,  and  who,  be 
ing  for  the  most  part  the  employees  of  men  who  pub 
lish  newspapers  as  they  would  traffic  in  bread-stuffs, 
are  not  paid  enough  or  permitted  to  display  a  costly 
and  offensive  individuality.  In  America  the  power  of 
the  press  is  not  consolidated  in  a  single  great  city.  All 
the  larger  towns  have  their  journals  and  their  journal 
ists;  some  of  them  of  the  richest  and  most  notable.  In 
this  way  journalism  with  us,  as  in  France,  though  for 
an  opposite  reason,  opens  a  road  to  wealth  and  fame 
which  is  closed  to  the  journalist  of  England,  who,  from 
necessity  and  not  from  choice,  we  may  be  sure,  leads 
an  obscure  life  and  goes  to  his  grave  "unwept,  unhon- 
ored,  and  unsung." 

Men  of  vigorous  parts  and  sound  understandings  do 
not  willingly  part  with  their  identity.  That  is  a  por 
tion  of  the  heritage  which  God  has  given  to  mankind, 
our  finer  part,  for  it  causes  us  to  strive,  to  labor,  to 
aspire,  to  keep  ourselves  honorable  and  clean,  to  seek 
the  good-will  and  good-report  of  our  fellow-men. 
Personalism  is  only  objectionable  when  it  becomes 
blatant  or  degenerates  into  vanity.  It  is  considered,  and 
236 


The  American  Newspaper 

it  is  a  most  ennobling  and  admirable  quality,  when  it 
causes  Morton  and  Schurz  to  detach  themselves  from 
the  rest  in  order  that  they  may  tell  millions  of  their 
countrymen  what  they  think  on  this  question  and  on 
that.  The  journalist  does  not,  in  his  most  personal 
moments,  display  himself  half  so  much  as  these,  and, 
while  he  is  to  be  warned  against  using  his  great  ve 
hicle  to  the  mere  tickling  of  his  own  conceit,  he  is  surely 
not  to  be  blamed  for  going  in  at  the  front  door,  in 
stead  of  creeping  round  by  way  of  the  back  alley,  nor 
stigmatized  for  holding  his  head  up  in  the  face  of 
all  the  world,  non  sibi,  sed  toti  genitum  se  credere 
mundo. 

This  principle,  fairly  construed  and  carried  out,  un 
derlies  another,  and  the  most  important  of  the  unseen 
forces  in  journalism — the  sense  of  responsibility.  The 
business  of  conducting  newspapers  is  only  just  begin 
ning  to  be  recognized  as  a  profession,  like  law,  engineer 
ing,  or  physic ;  but  it  is  yet  a  common,  unfenced  by  es 
tablished  rules  and  marked  by  none  of  those  precedents 
which  make  its  fellow-toilers  so  venerable  and  so 
revered.  It  is  at  once  without  a  jurisprudence  and  a 
history. 

I  have  been  reading  Mr.  Hudson's  recent  book  with 
interest  and  attention,  and  nothing  that  it  contains  has 
struck  me  with  greater  force  than  the  general  sugges 
tion  which  it  conveys  of  what  it  does  not  contain; 
some  theory  of  journalistic  practice.  That  must  in- 
237 


The  Compromises  of  Life 

deed  be  a  barren  field  of  speculation  which  furnishes 
so  few  abstract  ideas  to  a  man  of  such  large  experience 
as  the  biographer  of  the  American  press.  I  take  it  for 
granted  that  there  must  have  been  weighty  reasons 
which  restrained  a  life-long  journalist,  who  was  the 
executive  officer  during  twenty  momentous  years  of 
the  most  famous  and  widely  circulated  American  news 
paper,  from  tossing  his  younger  followers  a  hint  or  two 
concerning  the  system  whose  loose,  disjointed  story  he 
undertook  to  tell  us.  I  know  of  one  repressing  influ 
ence — it  can  hardly  be  called  a  reason — which  seals 
the  lips  of  many  a  practical  journalist  with  respect  to 
his  craft  and  his  work:  a  worldly  minded,  perhaps  a 
prudent,  well-bred  disinclination  to  sermonize,  and  a 
wholesome  fear  of  ridicule.  He  is  sufficiently  oracular 
when  it  comes  to  matters  about  which  he  cannot  be  so 
well  advised  as  about  his  own  calling;  he  will  con 
strue  the  law;  he  will  decide  a  case  in  railway  econ 
omy;  he  will  be  by  turns  a  statesman,  a  soldier,  and  a 
diplomatist;  he  will  organize  a  party  and  furnish  it  a 
platform  of  everlasting  and  infallible  principles;  he 
will  command  an  army  and  insure  it  victories  in  ad 
vance;  he  will  enter  unfamiliar  courts  and  throw 
down  the  glove  to  kings  and  ministers.  But  when  it 
comes  to  guessing  at  the  truths  and  falsehoods  of  his 
daily  life,  to  honestly  investigating  the  mystery  of  a 
penful  of  ink,  and  measuring  the  length,  breadth,  and 
thickness  of  a  bit  of  lead-pencil,  to  defining  the  tactics 
238 


The  American  Newspaper 

of  a  paragraph,  and  settling  the  strategy  of  a  leading 
article,  to  carefully,  diplomatically  weighing  the  nice 
ties  and  balancing  the  subtleties  of  news,  and  casting 
up  some  general,  philosophical  result,  he  sheers  off 
and  begins  to  play  what  wicked  and  adventurous  peo 
ple  call  "a  close  game" — that  is  to  say,  he  presses  the 
cards  to  his  bosom  and  is  mute. 

I  suppose  all  of  you  know  the  editor  of  the  Cincin 
nati  Commercial,  and  that  most  of  you  know  the  edi 
tor  of  the  Chicago  Tribune;  you  will  agree  with  me 
that  an  essay  on  journalism  from  either  would  be  val 
uable,  because  each  has  illustrated  the  profession  of 
journalism  by  distinguished  successes.  But,  do  you  not 
see  that  the  very  quality  which  has  made  them  what 
they  are  shuts  them  up  like  oysters?  Schurz  calls  this 
"indifferentialism."  I  explain  it  in  this  way,  that, 
when  they  came  to  the  front,  frivolous  garrulity  and 
mawkish  gush  were  in  the  ascendant;  they  fought 
against  pruriency  in  themselves  as  well  as  in  their  or 
der,  overcoming  it,  at  least,  in  themselves.  With  a  ro- 
bustuous,  self-taught  spirit,  which  was  keen  and  detec 
tive,  flashing  upon  a  sham  and  lighting  up  a  cheat  with 
a  peculiar  species  of  new-fashioned,  mirthful  sincerity, 
truth-seeking  and  truth-telling,  they  resolved  to  main 
tain  in  their  public  intercourse  the  simple,  colloquial 
tone  which  is  common  to  private  expressions  of  opin 
ion;  and,  by  practising  this  self-repression,  they,  very 
naturally,  went  to  the  extreme  of  it.  They  errctl 
239 


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merely  in  degree,  and  in  the  right  direction;  but  while 
it  may  be  said  of  them  that 

"E'en  their  frailties  lean  to  virtue's  side," 

I  wish  they  could  be  induced  to  speak  out  as  Medill 
spoke  out  in  this  very  place  a  year  or  two  since,  and 
as  Reid  spoke  out  in  New  York  not  so  long  ago,  and 
as  I  am  trying  very  inadequately  to  speak  out  on  this 
occasion,  toward  the  establishment  of  some  general,  if 
not  some  special,  conception  of  a  system  by  which  we 
not  merely  get  our  daily  bread,  but  which  I  am  sure 
the  greater  number  of  us  are  interested  in  advancing, 
in  purifying,  in  elevating  among  the  professions  and  in 
the  esteem  of  men. 

With  this  in  mind,  I  speak  of  the  responsibility 
which  presses  upon  every  newspaper  conductor;  and  I 
shall  speak  confidently  and  earnestly,  because,  having 
some  taste  for  investigating  the  causes  of  things,  and 
having  had  considerable  apprenticeship  to  the  experi 
mental  part  of  our  vocation,  I  am  satisfied  that  in  jour 
nalism,  as  in  every  conceivable  sphere  of  life,  the 
foundation  of  success  is  Credit.  What  is  it  that  makes 
you  trust  your  money  in  a  bank?  Confidence  in  its 
management.  What  is  it  that  makes  you  rally  around 
a  favorite  party  leader?  Confidence  that  he  knows 
more  of  the  science  of  government  than  you  do;  that 
he  is  a  better  representative  of  your  peculiar  notions 
than  you  are  yourself;  and  that  he  is  to  be  relied  on 
240 


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with  greater  assurance  than  his  competitor.  You  do 
not  wish  your  banker  and  your  politician  to  exchange 
their  places.  The  banker  might  get  on  but  poorly  in 
public  life,  and  the  politician  would,  in  all  likelihood, 
scarcely  get  on  at  all  as  a  practical  financier.  Apply 
this  rule  of  fitness  to  the  press.  What  is  it  that  the 
people  want  of  a  newspaper  ?  Not  so  much  the  science 
of  banking  and  government  as  the  raw  material,  the 
facts,  out  of  which  they  may  construct  a  rude,  popular 
science,  which  the  scientists  themselves  must  consult. 
They  want  to  feel,  first  of  all,  that  it  is  reliable;  that 
it  is  uncontrolled  by  sordid  interests,  and  unseduced  by 
passion  and  prejudice,  which  the  unexcited  heart  of  our 
better  nature  secretly  tells  us  are  unjust. 

I  do  not  say  that  racy,  reckless  writing,  be  it  never 
so  wrongful,  is  unattractive.  It  certainly  pleases  our 
worse  side;  it  flatters  a  combativism  more  or  less  com 
mon  to  all  men.  But  it  cannot  hold  its  own,  and  never 
has  held  its  own,  when  brought  face  to  face  with  up 
right,  painstaking,  sensible,  and  informed  writing,  sup 
ported  by  those  ordinary  mechanical  appliances  which 
are  indispensable  to  the  commercial  success  of  newspa 
pers. 

Of  course,  the  axiom  of  newspaper  success  is  news. 
The  newspaper  of  to-day  is  the  history  of  yesterday. 
As  action  is  said  to  be  to  oratory,  so  is  currency  to 
journalism.  But  what  sort  of  news,  what  sort  of  cur 
rency?  I  answer,  trustworthy  information,  of  some 
241 


The  Compromises  of  Life 

use,  interest,  and  import,  recent  enough  to  be  given  to 
the  public  for  the  first  time;  and,  if  commented  upon, 
to  be  fairly  commented  upon.  I  do  not  believe  it  to 
be  the  mission  of  journalism  to  fish  in  the  sewers  for 
scandal  and  to  loiter  up  and  down  the  world  in  quest 
of  the  forbidden.  There  are  many  things  not  fit  to  be 
told  that  may  amuse  or  disgust  the  public.  There 
are  many  other  things  the  telling  of  which  might  bring 
a  rogue  to  his  deserts.  In  cases  of  this  sort  what  are 
we  to  do? 

Let  us  take  an  example.  One  of  my  reporters  comes 
in  late  at  night  and  says,  breathlessly,  that  a  promi 
nent  banker  has  absconded  with  half  a  million  of  dol 
lars  and  the  wife  of  a  fashionable  up-town  clergyman. 
I  am  overjoyed,  of  course — I  mean  professionally  over 
joyed — for  though  this  same  banker  is  my  neighbor, 
and  lives  in  a  much  grander  house  than  mine,  though 
he  refused  but  yesterday  to  allow  me  to  overcheck  my 
deposit,  I  entertain  no  grudge  against  him.  I  am 
simply  rejoiced  that  to-morrow's  issue  of  the  Courier- 
Journal  is  to  go  out  with  a  first-class  sensation.  It 
comes  out  accordingly  with  the  startling  disclosure  that 
Mr.  So-and-so  has  disappeared;  that  he  was  last  seen 
at  the  depot  in  Jeffersonville,  with  Mrs.  So-and-so; 
that  there  has  been  a  good  deal  of  scandal  in  religious, 
aristocratic,  and  banking  circles  for  some  time  about 
Mr.  So-and-so's  business  habits  and  his  unfortunate  in 
timacy  with  Mrs.  So-and-so;  that  persons  best  ac- 
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quainted  with  him  have  never  doubted  him  to  be  at 
heart  a  villain;  and,  finally,  that  "at  the  late  hour  at 
which  we  write,"  his  family,  being  prudently  sent  away, 
in  order  to  facilitate  his  diabolical  purpose,  and  his 
cashier  not  being  within  reach  of  our  reporters,  we 
must  defer  the  full  particulars  of  this  horrible  and  la 
mentable  affair  until  "our  next  issue."  Well,  next  day 
comes,  and  what  does  it  disclose?  It  discloses,  in  the 
first  place,  that  our  reporter  has  picked  up  one  of  those 
rumors  which  now  and  then  take  complete,  though 
happily  only  brief,  possession  of  the  streets.  He  knew 
that  his  chief  had  no  love  for  Mr.  So-and-so,  and  he 
colored  and  substantiated  his  story;  let  us  say  he  be 
lieved  it.  The  facts  are  simply  that  Mr.  So-and-so  has 
gone  to  Cincinnati  with  Mrs.  So-and-so,  who  is  his  sis 
ter;  and  all  the  rest  is  false. 

There  is  a  fight  or  a  libel  suit. 

You  will  say  at  once  that  this  is  an  extreme  case; 
unlikely  to  occur  where  ordinary  prudence  was  em 
ployed;  impossible  to  occur  in  a  well-regulated,  dis 
creetly  handled  newspaper  office.  I  admit  it ;  but  why  ? 
Because  of  the  prominence  and  influence  of  the  parties 
supposed  to  be  involved.  But  it  is  not  at  all  improb 
able,  nay,  it  is  common,  where  they  are  less  conspicu 
ous,  where  they  happen  to  be  poor,  obscure  work 
people  charged  with  crime,  and  having  scanty  means 
of  righting  themselves.  The  law  presumes  a  man  to 
be  innocent  until  he  is  proved  to  be  guilty.  The  press, 
243 


The  Compromises  of  Life 

not  merely  usurping  the  functions  of  the  law  in  ar 
raigning  a  man  whom  the  constable  has  no  warrant 
to  arrest,  goes  still  further  and  assumes  him,  prima 
facie,  to  be  guilty.  After  many  weeks,  if  the  case  of 
the  accused  comes  to  trial,  he  is  acquitted;  the  law 
makes  him  an  honest  man;  but  there  is  the  newspaper 
which  has  condemned  him,  and  cannot,  with  a  dozen 
retractions,  erase  the  impression  left  and  the  damage 
done  by  a  single  paragraph. 

This  tendency  to  arraign,  to  accuse,  arising  out  of 
the  critical  nature  of  the  work  set  before  the  journal 
ist,  might  be  given  a  better  and  happier  direction  if  it 
were  confined  to  the  laws  of  evidence  and  usage  which 
prevail  in  our  old,  established  courts;  if  it  based  itself 
on  investigation;  if  it  pursued  its  mission  through  the 
sunshine  and  not  through  the  shades  of  night.  Nay,  it 
would  be  a  most  pleasing,  popular  element  if  it  should 
be  wittily  instead  of  savagely  severe. 

One  may  be  shrewd  and  sound  in  his  judgments 
and  still  be  charitable.  Did  ever  you  know  a  good  and 
valuable  man  who  wore  an  habitual  frown  and  spoke 
constant  ill  of  the  world  and  his  fellow-men?  Such  a 
man  may  perhaps  be  honest,  but  he  will  not  be  a  bene 
factor  or  a  leader  of  his  kind.  It  is  never  necessary 
to  be  brutal  in  order  to  be  vigorous;  to  pule  in  order 
to  be  humane.  That  is  the  best  courage  which  does 
not  fly  into  a  passion.  There  is,  lurking  down  in  the 
heart  of  the  fiercest  partisan,  a  social  yearning,  which 
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The  American  Newspaper 

begets  the  selfish,  manly  instinct  of  fair-play.  There  is 
in  every  man's  nature  a  natural  love  of  cheerfulness 
and  serenity.  Observe  how  humor  drove  the  old, 
highfalutin  novel  into  retirement  and  made  those 
writers  of  fiction,  from  Sterne  to  Dickens,  from  Gold 
smith  to  Bret  Harte,  most  popular  who  best  illus 
trated  it.  Observe  how  humor  on  the  stage,  personi 
fied  by  Mr.  Jefferson  and  Mr.  Sothern,  has  paled  the 
ineffectual  fires  of  tragedy.  What  is  it  but  our  God- 
given  better  nature,  chastened  and  educated  by  our 
God-sent  modern  culture,  and  the  spirit  of  a  beautiful 
and  gracious  Christianity,  which  commands  and  in 
spires  artist  work  of  every  sort,  be  it  the  work  of  the 
actor,  the  painter,  the  musician,  the  statesman,  the 
jurist,  the  litterateur,  or  the  editor? 

Five  and  thirty  years  ago  these  ideas  would  prob 
ably  have  been  stoutly  denied  by  the  most  celebrated 
of  our  journalists,  and  were  certainly  contradicted  by 
the  editorial  practice  of  the  period.  Curious  and  com 
ical  period!  when  Richard  Smith  wore  unbecoming 
roundabouts  and  William  Hyde  instituted  the  black 
art  of  selling  newspapers  on  the  banks  of  the  Ohio; 
when  Walter  Haldeman  kept  books  for  George  D. 
Prentice ;  when  Joseph  Medill  pulled  a  press  at  Cleve 
land;  when  M.  D.  Potter  wheelbarrowed  the  forms 
of  his  paper  through  the  streets  of  Cincinnati;  when 
Greeley,  Raymond,  and  Bennett  were  obscure,  and  the 
press  glorified  itself  in  the  persons  of  half  a  hundred  for- 
245 


The  Compromises  of  Life 

gotten  worthies,  who  wrote  fierce  nonsense,  and  fought 
duels,  and  hickuped  Fourth  of  July  orations  every  day 
of  the  year  in  exceeding  bad  grammar.  Journalism  in 
those  days  was  a  sort  of  inebrious  knight-errantry;  a 
big  joke,  considerably  drunken  and  blood-stained.  Now 
and  then  I  turn  back  to  it  and  contemplate  it,  and 
whenever  I  do  so  I  begin  to  choke  up  between  a  laugh 
and  a  cry;  it  was  so  funny,  it  was  so  tragic! 

In  the  old  time  the  journalist  was  a  mere  player, 
strutting  and  fretting  his  hour  upon  the  stage,  acting 
a  part  by  command  of  his  liege  lord,  the  party  leader. 
He  was  about  as  much  in  earnest  in  his  role  of  "or 
ganist"  as  Mr.  Booth  is  in  his  role  of  Richelieu  or 
Hamlet;  that  is,  it  suited  him,  and  he  adapted  himself 
to  it.  He  was  the  politician's  squire  and  the  party's 
hack — neglected  or  rewarded  according  to  the  caprice 
of  his  master.  That,  in  spite  of  his  genius  and  his  per 
sonality,  his  independence  of  spirit  and  undoubted 
courage,  was  Prentice.  With  all  his  gifts — his  wit, 
sagacity,  and  courage — Prentice  lived  the  life  of  a  slave. 
Realizing  the  fact  always,  he  only  realized  the  cause 
toward  the  end. 

I  do  not  say  that  Horace  White  may  not  be  a  bet 
ter-trained  journalist  to-day  than  Joseph  Medill,  who 
trained  himself  from  the  ground  floor  and  fought  up 
ward  against  odds  and  time.  I  am  sure  that  Murat 
Halstead  is  an  abler  editor  than  his  predecessor,  who 
was  a  hero  and  a  man  of  parts.  What  I  do  say,  and 
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The  American  Newspaper 

mean  to  impress  upon  you,  is  that  when  Potter  and 
Medill  began  to  evolve  the  mystery  of  modern  jour 
nalism  out  of  their  inner  consciousness,  the  problem 
was  more  blank  and  the  future  less  assured  than  the 
problem  and  the  future  are  to  you  in  the  work  of 
emancipating  the  press — the  country  press — from  its 
present  thraldom;  for  I  should  waste  the  time  we 
spend  in  coming  here,  and  should  poorly  acquit  myself 
of  the  privilege  of  speaking  out  in  meeting  which  you 
have  kindly  allowed  me,  if  I  should  let  the  occasion 
pass  with  a  few  glittering  generalities  touching  jour 
nalism  at  large,  and  a  pretty  phrase  or  two  about  our 
greater  journalists.  The  purpose  of  my  coming  re 
lates  wholly  to  that  weekly,  provincial,  to  that  county 
journalism,  which  is  so  largely,  so  respectably,  and  so 
intelligently  represented  here.  The  greater  journals 
take  care  of  themselves.  The  greater  journalists, 
whether  they  be  good  or  wise,  creditable  or  unworthy, 
are  able  to  make  a  figure  in  the  world.  In  any 
event,  they  are  few  in  number.  If  journalism  ever 
is  reformed — if  it  ever  realize  the  ideal  I  have  been 
sketching  in  outline — its  reformation  must  embrace 
the  country  press  and  enter  into  the  homespun  no  less 
than  the  imported  fabric  of  the  profession. 

I  have  thrown  out,  generally,  the  principles  of  con 
duct  and  the  arts  of  enterprise  which  have  given  birth 
to  the  Independent  Press,  that  is,  to  the  self-sustain 
ing,  non-partisan  press — to  that  press  which  is  sought 
247 


The  Compromises  of  Life 

to  be  run  in  the  public  interest,  which  affects  not  to 
be  purchased  or  intimidated,  which  pretends  to  be  con 
trolled  by  its  legitimate  owners  and  not  by  a  clique 
or  ring  of  politicians,  which  looks  for  its  support  ex 
clusively  to  the  people,  which  relies  solely  on  public 
opinion  for  its  good-will  just  as  it  relies  on  events,  and 
its  representative  character  as  a  popular  interpreter  and 
mouth-piece,  for  its  vindication.  If  you  will  consider 
these  arts  and  these  principles  carefully,  if  you  will 
separate  them  minutely  from  their  abstract  setting  and 
apply  them  to  the  every-day  conditions  that  surround 
your  life  and  labor,  you  will  find  them  not  merely 
adaptable,  but  comprehensive  and  infallible. 

There  are  in  this  State  of  Indiana,  living  in  vil 
lages,  and  passing  comparatively  obscure  lives,  pro 
fessional  men  of  real  eminence  and  learning — lawyers 
and  doctors  who,  transplanted  to  a  larger  field,  would 
make  a  figure  in  the  world.  Twelve  or  fourteen  years 
ago  there  was  a  young  student  at  Terre  Haute,  un- 
honored  and  unknown,  who  rose  to  national  distinc 
tion,  still  keeping  his  beautiful  but  out-of-the-way 
dwelling-place.  Occupying  no  great  official  place,  he 
signalized  his  genius  as  a  pleader  and  politician  all  over 
the  country;  and  now,  though  defeated  and  gone  into 
retirement,  he  is  perhaps  stronger  than  ever  he  was, 
with  a  better  future.  Five  and  twenty  years  ago,  at 
South  Bend,  another  equally  obscure  young  man  be 
gan  a  career  which  was  peculiarly  distinguished  and 
248 


The  American  Newspaper 

brilliant,  carrying  him  from  the  office  of  a  county 
newspaper  into  the  National  Congress,  to  the  head  of 
this,  and  finally  up  to  the  second  place  within  the  gift 
of  the  American  people.  Voorhees  and  Colfax  were 
both  village  men;  their  lot  was  cast  in  an  interior 
State;  yet  each  of  them  carved  out  of  fortune  a  place 
for  himself.  Both  became  national  influences.  Turn 
away  to  New  England :  take  note  of  the  trim  little  city 
of  Springfield,  in  Massachusetts — merely  a  large  vil 
lage.  You  will  find  there  a  newspaper  more  praised, 
abused,  and  quoted  than  any  other  newspaper  in 
America.  Sam  Bowles  has  simply  done,  in  his  way, 
what  Dan  Voorhees  and  Schuyler  Colfax  did  in  their 
way — that  is,  being  a  man  of  genius,  as  they  are,  he 
adapted  himself  to  his  situation  in  life.  He  made  the 
best  of  himself  by  doing  faithful,  conscientious  work  in 
the  sphere  wherein  his  lot  was  cast.  The  same  is  open 
to  every  man;  only  the  county  journalist  has  a  better, 
because  an  almost  untilled,  field  for  the  planting  and 
reaping  of  a  plentiful  harvest. 

My  friends,  you  are,  I  take  it,  intelligent,  candid 
men,  and  you  will  not  think  the  less  of  me  if,  stand 
ing  before  you  as  your  guest  and  feeling  myself  hon 
ored  by  your  notice,  I  speak  plainly  of  some  matters 
about  which  we  are  not  all  agreed.  You  will  admit 
in  your  personal  intercourse  a  hundred  errors  and 
abuses  of  your  system,  and  then,  without  making  an 
effort  at  emancipation,  go  off  and  submit  to  them.  I 
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The  Compromises  of  Life 

propose  to  enumerate  some  of  these,  for  I  have  not 
the  time,  nor  have  you,  or  any  audience,  the  patience  to 
go  through  the  long,  black-letter  list  of  dead-head  nui 
sances  which  keep  the  county  press  in  a  state  of  con 
tempt  and  bondage. 

First  of  all  comes,  of  course,  the  dead-head  system, 
which  is  the  parent  of  the  dead-beat  system;  free 
passes,  free  tickets,  and  free  postage.  You  will  all  ap 
plaud  the  sentiment  that  it  is  best  to  pay  as  we  go,  and 
there  is  not  one  of  you  but  believes  in  the  man  who 
asks  favors  of  nobody;  who  is  the  slave  of  nobody; 
who  minds  his  own  business,  relies  on  himself,  and 
lives  as  such  a  man  is  like  to  live,  an  upright,  indus 
trious,  and  decent  life.  How  can  a  man  realize  this 
character  who  submits  to  the  tacit  corruption  and 
quasi  indignity  of  a  free  ride  over  a  railroad,  which 
gives  it  in  order  that  it  may  be  able  to  command  his 
silence  or  his  support;  or  a  free  admission  into  a  thea 
tre,  which  is  meant  to  secure  an  unfaithful,  compli 
mentary  notice  of  the  performance  next  morning;  or 
free  transit  through  the  mails,  which  is  obtained  by  a 
collusion  with  local  politicians  and  court-house  rings, 
which  are  too  often  interested  in  newspaper  publica 
tions?  You  will  say,  in  answer  to  this,  "it  is  very 
well  to  talk  so ;  you  can  afford  to  pay  your  way  as  you 
go;  your  paper  will  be  only  too  glad  to  suspend  the 
free  list,  because  it  is  prosperous  and  rich,  and  to  es 
tablish  postal  prepayment,  because  it  will  break  down 
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The  American  Newspaper 

the  country  press  and  open  the  way  for  the  extension 
of  your  weekly  edition."  I  believe  nothing  of  the 
kind ;  if  I  did  I  should  not  venture  upon  a  distasteful 
topic  on  an  occasion  like  this.  I  stand  for  the  honor 
of  my  cloth;  and  be  this  cut  in  a  village  or  measured 
out  over  a  great  metropolis,  it  is  still  my  cloth,  and  I 
am  equally  zealous  in  its  service. 

The  dead-head  system,  the  dead-beat  system,  li 
censed  and  encouraged  by  the  system  of  subsidies  and 
favors  allowed  the  press  and  tolerated  by  journalists, 
keeps  the  local  newspaper  in  a  hopeless,  poverty- 
stricken  way,  where  the  independent  system,  relying 
for  its  success  upon  the  same  general  law  of  public 
needs — of  supply  and  demand — which  regulates  other 
commodities,  would  place  it  at  least  upon  a  level  with 
the  successful  cultivation  of  other  reputable,  neigh 
borly  pursuits.  A  man  goes  into  a  certain  line  of 
business.  Why?  Because  he  likes  it  and  thinks  he  is 
suited  to  it.  He  wants  to  control  his  own  business, 
and  be  master  of  himself,  of  course.  If  he  has  been 
correct  in  his  preference,  and  is  capable  and  indus 
trious,  he  gets  on.  This  rule  of  life  does  not  vary  its 
terms  in  journalism.  What  is  the  secret  of  capacity 
in  journalism  outside  of  that  intuitive  mystery  of  in 
terpretation  which  passes  for  genius?  It  is  the  same 
old-fashioned,  well-known  secret  which  the  world  has 
been  studying,  and  which  philosophers  and  econo 
mists  have  been  blabbing,  and  which  successful  men 
251 


The  Compromises  of  Life 

have  been  quietly  practising,  since  the  beginning  of  time 
— fair-dealing  and  open-sailing;  self-reliance;  cheer 
fulness,  common-sense,  and  candor,  the  foundation- 
stones  of  diplomacy,  of  finance,  of  science,  of  com 
merce,  of  all  useful  arts  and  strategy.  Wherever  these 
elements  have  been  thrown  into  journalism  they  have 
produced  the  same  familiar  effects,  great  or  small,  as 
the  case  might  be,  but  absolutely  specific  and  sure. 
There  is  not  a  man  here  to-day,  who  is  fit  for  an  edi 
tor,  who  would  not  be  a  better  editor,  a  stronger  and 
more  prosperous  editor,  if  he  should  say  to  himself: 
I  will,  whatever  comes  of  it,  be  a  perfectly  independent 
and  impartial  editor;  I  will  let  the  politicians  mind 
their  business,  and  I  will  mind  my  business;  I  will  tell 
the  truth  as  I  am  able  to  conceive  it,  setting  down 
naught  in  malice;  I  will  put  the  best  work  that  is  in 
me  on  my  paper ;  I  will  collect  the  news  industriously ; 
I  will  express  my  opinions  fearlessly  but  responsibly; 
I  will  accept  no  indulgences  not  given  my  neighbors; 
I  will  not  be  slapped  on  the  back,  nor  be  sneered  at 
as  a  sort  of  Cheap  John,  a  public  pensioner,  who  lives 
partly  by  his  wits,  partly  by  the  offal  thrown  out  by 
the  yard-dogs  who  congregate  about  the  court-house, 
and  partly  by  the  insolent  benefices  of  railroads  and 
the  absurd  cajolery  of  side-shows,  which  could  not 
merely  be  kept  in  a  state  of  perpetual  obeisance  and  re 
spect,  but  could  be  turned  into  a  source  of  legitimate 
revenue  by  the  application  of  a  strict  commercial  foot- 
252 


The  American  Newspaper 

rule.  Every  man  wants  to  be  independent.  Every 
man  wants  to  be  respected.  The  road  to  independence 
and  dignity  for  the  journalist  is  plain  and  open;  it  is, 
in  the  first  place,  suitability  and  capacity;  in  the  next 
place,  disinterestedness  and  courage  without  obstinacy 
or  vainglorious  self-assertion.  Finally,  say  nothing 
about  a  man  in  print  you  would  not  say  to  him  face 
to  face. 

The  exchange  system,  with  the  free  list,  ought  to 
be  abolished.  It  is  at  once  unequal  and  irregular  as 
well  as  expensive;  simply  a  costly  luxury.  The  paper 
that  cannot  live  except  on  favor  and  charity  ought  to 
die.  There  ought  to  be  one  fixed,  undeviating  scale 
of  advertising  prices,  inexorable  to  the  advertising 
agent  and  the  home  advertiser;  reasonable  on  its  face 
and  not  to  be  altered.  Every  practical  newspaper  man 
knows  what  wretched  abuses  exist  in  our  entire  adver 
tising  system;  how  we  allow  ourselves  to  be  imposed 
on  by  our  fancied  necessities,  and  how,  in  turn,  we  im 
pose  upon  others.  Mr.  A.  T.  Stewart  once  told  me 
that  his  success  in  the  dry-goods  line  consisted  in  sell 
ing  the  best  quality  of  goods  at  a  specified  price,  rely 
ing  solely  on  the  public  interest  to  find  out  the  posi 
tive  value  of  the  goods  and  not  trying  to  deceive  it, 
knowing  very  well,  as  he  added,  that  it  is  shrewd, 
selfish,  and  sordid,  not  to  be  deceived  in  the  long  run, 
and  sure  to  find  out  that  which  is  cheapest  and  best. 
It  is  simply  the  rule  of  that  positive  philosophy,  which 
assures  us  that  we  are  known  better  than  we  know 
253 


The  Compromises  of  Life 

ourselves;  that  facts,  not  fictions,  rule;  that  it  is  well 
to  make  a  clean  breast  of  it  in  all  our  public  deal 
ings,  producing  such  wares  as  we  have  and  looking  to 
the  public  to  take  them  only  as  they  are  sound,  useful, 
and  wanted.  People  do  not  advertise  with  us  because 
they  love  us.  They  insert  an  advertisement  in  a  news 
paper  as  they  hang  a  sign  in  a  street,  to  be  seen,  and 
just  as  they  seek  a  thoroughfare  for  this  sign,  so  they 
seek  the  largest  number  of  readers  for  their  advertise 
ment.  It  is  purely  a  matter  of  interest,  and,  except  as 
a  matter  of  interest,  is  not  to  be  relied  on.  There 
should  be  some  fixed  rule  in  every  business.  In  the 
advertising  business  there  is  none.  There  is  indeed  a 
scale  of  prices,  which,  outside  of  the  larger  cities,  is 
rarely  adhered  to;  and,  as  advertisers  feel  that  they 
hold  the  whip,  they  do  not  fail  to  use  it. 

I  might  go  on  endlessly  with  the  many  incidents 
which  belong  to  this  matter  of  newspaper  independence 
and  are  inevitably  suggested  by  it.  You  will  not 
charge  me  with  presumption,  I  hope,  because  I  have 
sketched  the  character  of  a  journalism  which  I  do  not 
pretend  to  realize  in  my  own  practices,  earnestly  as  I 
am  wedded  to  the  theories  in  which  it  is  constructed, 
and  thoroughly  as  I  believe  it  to  be  the  journalism  of 
the  future.  I  have  had  some  opportunities  to  test  the 
efficacy  and  value  of  many  of  the  hints  which  I  have 
been  throwing  out  here,  in  time  of  peace  and  in  time 
of  war,  and  it  is  my  unqualified  opinion  that,  wielded 
254 


The  American  Newspaper 

with  prudence,  justice,  and  truthfulness,  having  the 
right  on  its  side,  and  being  handled  with  ordinary  com 
posure  and  skill,  the  press  is,  as  the  old  saying  puts  it, 
"mightier  than  the  sword."  But  to  be  mighty  it  must 
be  free,  and  to  be  free  it  must  be  self-sustaining  and 
self-respecting. 

There  is  a  great  fight  before  us  for  liberty;  a  fight 
as  old  as  the  hills.  The  fight  of  the  poor  against  the 
rich ;  the  fight  of  the  weak  against  the  strong ;  the  fight 
of  the  people  against  the  corporations.  The  corpora 
tions  just  now  hold  the  vantage  ground.  They  began 
by  corrupting  the  newspapers;  and  they  have  gone  so 
fast  and  so  far  that  they  are  able  at  last  to  buy  up 
Legislatures,  to  command  the  services  of  capable  and 
astute  politicians,  and  even  to  shape  the  course  of 
parties.  The  people  are  becoming  aroused,  and,  being 
aroused,  they  look  around  them  for  weapons  of  de 
fence.  Thus  seeking  the  means  of  war,  they  have 
taken  hold  of  the  press  as  the  most  warlike  enginery 
within  their  reach,  and,  if  it  be  true  that  the  press  con 
trols  the  country,  it  is  because  the  people,  controlling 
the  press,  engage  it  in  their  interest,  supporting  it  with 
the  reserve  power  of  public  opinion.  The  silly  old  no 
tion  of  "writing  down  to  the  people"  is  exploded.  The 
effort  now  is  to  write  and  act  up  to  the  people ;  for  the 
people,  in  the  aggregate,  are  wiser  and  purer  than  any 
one  man,  even  though  that  one  man  should  be  the  edi 
tor  of  a  newspaper. 

255 


The  Compromises  of  Life 

To-morrow  morning  the  people  of  Indiana,  issuing 
out  of  a  half-million  of  farm-houses  and  cottages,  mov 
ing  about  mill-wheels  and  ploughshares,  bustling  in 
shops,  and  bathing  themselves  healthfully  in  the  benign 
May  air  that,  pouring  its  fragrant  flood  down  from  the 
lakes  and  over  the  prairies,  bids  a  good-day  and  God 
speed  alike  to  the  grain  in  the  earth  and  the  men  and 
women  and  the  flowers  above  it — to-morrow  morn 
ing  the  people  of  Indiana,  who  make  their  bread  by 
the  sweat  of  their  brow,  and  who  get  their  school 
ing  the  same  way,  rising  out  of  toil-worn  but  com 
fortable  beds,  at  once  sound-minded  and  whole-hearted, 
wanting  to  do  the  right  thing  in  the  right  manner, 
and  perfectly  unexcited — will  have,  if  they  are  to  have 
their  own  way,  just  as  little  chaff,  gush,  and  gam 
mon  in  their  favorite  newspaper  as  possible.  To  be 
sure,  if  they  can  get  nothing  better,  they  will  take 
this,  provided  it  happens  to  agree  with  certain  senti 
mental  conceits,  which  go  by  the  name  of  "principles," 
and  which  mean  the  latest  party  platform,  always  more 
or  less  rickety  and  changeable.  But  they  prefer  that 
which,  being  founded  in  genuine  conviction,  is  not 
bound  to  any  particular  circle  of  individuals,  enjoying 
ofHce  or  the  hope  of  office  and  calling  itself  a  party; 
they  prefer  that  which  is  to  be  relied  on  absolutely  as 
original  truth. 

I  make  no  plea  for  that  sort  of  independent  journal 
ism  which  represents  the  caprices  of  a  single  editor  and 
256 


The  American  Newspaper 

piques  itself  on  its  immunity  from  obligations  of  every 
sort.  I  know  very  well  that  parties  are  essential  to 
republics,  and  that  organization  is  essential  to  parties. 
I  am  myself  a  fairly  good  party  man,  but  I  am  not  so 
good  a  party  man  as  to  accept  the  theory  that  politics  is 
war ;  that  a  partisan  line,  like  the  military  line  of  battle, 
should  divide  me  from  my  neighbors  who  Differ  from 
me  in  points  of  fact  or  in  the  construction  which  we 
mutually  place  upon  civil  questions,  and  which  requires 
me  to  tell  lies,  bear  malice,  and  be  guilty  of  all  un- 
charitableness  in  order  that  one  set  of  gentlemen  shall 
hold  office  and  another  set  be  kept  out  of  office. 

I  say,  and  in  using  the  first  person  singular  I  mean  to 
be  understood  as  speaking  for  every  editor  who  is  satis 
fied  with  his  calling,  that  I  want  no  office ;  that  I  have 
a  better  office  already  than  I  can  hope  to  get  if  I  do  my 
duty;  and  that,  therefore,  fairly  representing  the  ideas 
which  group  themselves  from  natural  causes  about  a 
certain  point  in  our  political  field  of  action,  I  stand  for 
them  in  their  truths  and  not  in  their  falsehoods ;  I  stand 
for  them  as  they  are  just,  and  not  as  they  are  merely 
selfish,  strategic,  or  extreme,  running  into  bombast, 
and  too  often  seeking  to  conceal  and  justify  their  errors 
by  increased  wantonness  and  wrong.  I  believe  I  stand 
where  the  people,  who  give  me  all  I  have  and  who  make 
me  all  I  am,  would  have  me  stand,  as  a  journalist,  for, 
in  the  long  run,  the  people  are  pretty  sure  to  find  out 
whether  a  newspaper  is  whimsical  and  eccentric,  simply 
257 


The  Compromises  of  Life 

pretentious  and  individualized,  or  whether,  guided  by 
modesty  and  inspired  by  sincerity,  it  is  a  mouth-piece 
of  that  yearning  for  public  honesty,  good-nature,  and 
fair-play,  which  are  characteristic  of  our  laughter-lov 
ing,  brave-hearted  Americanism. 

Pray  do  not  think  I  am  striking  too  high.  These 
are  but  simple  and  easy  lessons  in  human  nature,  the 
source  and  resource,  the  buttress,  and  the  bell-tower  of 
journalism  and  a  free  press.  They  are  attainable  by 
the  smallest  journalist  of  the  smallest  village,  and  not 
until  they  are  learned,  and  well  learned,  by  the  lesser 
journalists  of  the  country,  can  we  hope  for  that  journal 
ism  which,  ideal  now,  is  destined  to  win  the  fight  of  the 
people  against  the  great  aggregation  of  capital ;  to  sub 
stitute  a  national  and  popular  spirit  against  mere  dema- 
gogism  and  party  spirit;  and,  if  such  be  God's  provi 
dence,  to  establish  that  universal  republic  which,  based 
on  diffused  intelligence,  is  to  bring  us  peace  on  earth 
and  good-will  among  men.  Emancipate  the  press  from 
its  thraldom  to  mammon  by  making  it  self-sustaining! 
Bind  it  with  hooks  of  steel  to  the  service  of  the  people ! 
Acknowledge  no  master  except  that  of  which  you  your 
selves  are  component  parts — a  board  of  which  you  are 
members — a  cabinet  of  which  you  are  ministers — the 
mastership  of  public  opinion.  It  is  the  only  service  that 
gives  plenty  of  pay  and  honest  pay ;  it  is  the  only  service 
of  which  a  man  may  be  proud  and  in  which  he  may  feel 
happy.  Throw  off  the  old  execrable  badge,  faded  and 
258 


The  American  Newspaper 

tattered  and  worm-eaten  by  its  dishonoring  memories 
and  inscriptions,  for  that  other  badge,  that  insignia  of 
rank  and  power,  which  says:  "I  am  no  man's  slave.  I 
am  a  man  among  men.  The  roof  above  me  is  my  own. 
This  threshold  is  mine ;  and,  holding  no  commission  but 
that  which,  sent  from  Heaven,  makes  me  a  spokesman 
for  my  fellow-men,  and  having  no  weapons  except  a 
handful  of  types,  I  am  able  to  defy  the  world  that  pro 
poses,  unbidden,  to  cross  it,  because  I  am  supported  by 
an  invincible  army,  ready  to  rally  at  a  moment's  notice 
for  the  defence  of  itself,  which  is  my  defence."  I  be 
lieve  in  that  sort  of  journalism,  and  I  believe  that  that 
sort  of  journalism  will  come  to  be  believed  in  by  every 
man  who  edits  and  reads  a  newspaper. 


259 


A  PLEA  FOR  PROVINCIALISM* 

The  present  year  marks  the  hundredth  anniversary  of 
the  settlement  of  Kentucky.  In  the  spring  of  1774  the 
town  of  Harrodsburg,  which  is  conceded  the  birthright 
honor  of  seniority  over  its  neighbors,  was  laid  out  by  a 
company  of  pioneers  from  Virginia.  A  year  later  grain 
was  growing  among  the  cane-brakes. 

There  used  to  be  a  tradition  that,  at  least  five  years 
before  the  arrival  of  the  Harrods  and  the  McAfees,  a 
person  by  the  name  of  Boone,  from  the  Yadkin  River,  in 
North  Carolina,  made  his  way  to  the  spot  where  we  are 
now  assembled ;  whereat,  in  times  gone  by,  the  good 
people  hereabout  took  a  certain  pride  and  credit  to  them 
selves  as  possessors  of  the  soil  from  which  the  patri 
archal  ladder  of  promise  and  hope,  ascending  to  Heaven 
in  the  hunter's  dream,  had  proved  to  be  a  real  passway 
for  the  manifold  blessings  and  mercies  showered  upon 
them  by  the  God  of  their  fathers.  Certain  it  is  that 
Boone  did  make  two  separate  incursions  prior  to  the  es 
tablishment  of  a  fixed  colony.  "It  was  on  May  i, 
1769,"  he  tells  us,  "that  I  resigned  my  domestic  happi 
ness  and  left  my  family  and  peaceful  habitation  on  the 

*  Georgetown  College,  Kentucky,  1874. 
260 


A  Plea  for  Provincialism 

Yadkin  River,  in  North  Carolina,  to  wander  through 
the  wilderness  of  America  in  quest  of  the  country  of 
Kentucke."  He  came  afoot,  and  was  followed  by  a 
little  troop  of  heroes  and  poets  like  himself. 

I  say  heroes  and  poets,  for  they  were  stirred  by  the 
fine  frenzy  of  true  poetry  and  the  adventurous  daring  of 
true  heroism  set  upon  an  enterprise  which  brought  forth 
an  epic.  Nature  herself  seemed  conscious  of  the  com 
ing  of  an  important  embassy,  and  put  on  her  richest 
apparel  to  receive  it.  The  pomp  of  all  the  heraldries 
in  the  world  could  not  have  furnished  out  a  splendider 
fete  than  that  which  waited  these  humble  ministers  and 
envoys  in  buckskin.  It  was  when  the  June  skies  were 
softest  and  the  June  fruition  was  at  its  full ;  when  the 
elm  and  the  maple  vied  with  one  another  which  should 
show  itself  the  more  hospitable  and  magnificent ;  when 
the  welcoming  bluebird  call  was  clearest  and  sweetest, 
that  the  mysterious  pathway  through  the  forest  which 
had  opened  day  after  day,  not  like  the  fabled  avenue  in 
the  enchanted  garden,  but  like  the  track  pointed  out  to 
Christian  by  divine  inspiration,  brought  the  little  band 
to  an  elevation  from  which  its  members  beheld,  for  the 
first  time,  the  land  they  had  come  so  far  to  see.  Moses, 
stretching  his  weary  eyes  from  Pisgah  into  Canaan,  was 
not  gladdened  and  refreshed  by  a  lovelier  prospect.  It 
was,  Boone  declares  in  his  autobiography,  "a  second 
paradise."  A  new  world  dawned  upon  him,  a  world  in 
which  nature  revealed  herself  in  perpetual  surprises,  a 
261 


The  Compromises  of  Life 

world  throughout  whose  dells,  meadows,  and  streams, 
disturbed  only  by  the  bear,  the  panther,  and  the  wolf, 
giving  a  weird,  habitable  grandeur  to  the  solitudes  con 
genial  to  the  heroic  spirit,  he  might  vindicate  the  poet's 
lines,  actually  finding — 

"Tongues  in  trees,  books  in  the  running  brooks, 
Sermons  in  stones,  and  good  in  everything." 

It  is  apart  from  the  purpose  of  the  answer  I  have  to 
make  to  the  invitation  with  which  you  have  honored  me 
to  pursue  the  story  of  the  adventures  that  ensued, 
though  they  rival  the  deeds  of  Perseus  and  are  not  sur 
passed  in  legendary  glory  by  the  achievements  of  the 
mythical  knights  who  followed  the  fortunes  of  Arthur 
and  the  Table  Round.  Nor  shall  I  attempt  to  sketch, 
however  briefly,  the  career  of  the  commonwealth  which 
thence  sprang  into  existence,  producing  a  succession  of 
famous  statesmen  and  soldiers,  and,  during  three-quar 
ters  of  a  century,  holding  a  place  alongside  of  Virginia 
and  Massachusetts  in  the  household  circle  of  States.  I 
wish  to  speak  to  you,  the  youthful  descendants  of  this 
most  illustrious  line,  of  the  present  rather  than  of  the 
past.  I  ask  you  to  look  about  you,  to  note  the  reduced 
rank  into  which  Kentucky  has  fallen,  to  compare  her  in 
all  aspects  with  other  of  the  great  and  growing  States 
of  the  country,  and,  if  you  reach  the  conclusion  that 
there  has  been  a  decline  from  the  old  high  point  occupied 
by  the  State,  to  inquire  the  cause,  and,  having  divined  it, 
262 


A  Plea  for  Provincialism 

to  consider  the  important  question  how  you  shall  regain 
possession  of  the  mantles  of  your  forefathers,  fit  them  to 
the  times  in  which  you  live,  and  wear  them,  as  they 
wore  them,  proudly  among  your  fellow-men. 

There  are  periods  especially  favorable  to  self-inspec 
tion.  This,  the  centenary  of  the  laying  of  the  corner 
stones  at  Harrodsburg,  is  one  of  them,  and  it  is  the  more 
in  season  since  it  comes  to  us  when  the  whole  world  is 
full  of  movement.  Ancient  things  are  vanishing  away. 
The  fabric  of  the  past  is  everywhere  undergoing  repairs. 
We  must  e'en  move  with  the  rest.  But,  in  putting  our 
house  in  order,  I  would  not  have  you  believe  it  necessary 
to  disturb  its  foundations,  to  alter  its  architectural  de 
sign,  or  even  to  change  its  furniture.  You  may,  indeed, 
find  it  well  to  remove  a  deal  of  rubbish  which  has  some 
how  accumulated ;  but  it  was  not  put  there,  nor  in 
tended  to  be  there  at  the  first.  The  original  plan  does 
not  leave  us  so  much  as  a  gable  to  remodel.  The  gim- 
crackery  of  modern  invention  has  produced  nothing  half 
so  worthy  of  preservation  and  respect  as  the  old-fash 
ioned  solidarities  of  government,  morals,  and  manners 
bequeathed  us  by  the  gentlemen  of  the  backwoods,  who 
wore  with  equal  manliness  and  grace  the  knee-breeches 
of  civilization  and  the  hunting-shirt  of  the  frontier.  It 
is  by  restoring  the  spirit  of  those  days,  and  adapting  its 
high  purposes  and  simple  methods  to  contemporaneous 
uses,  that  we  shall  rise  above  the  wretched  dead-level 
which  seems  to  content  us. 

263 


The  Compromises  of  Life 

There  are  those  who,  puffed  up  by  their  own  conceit, 
never  weary  of  descanting  upon  the  progress  of  enlight 
enment.  In  truth,  if  material  development  is  to  be  re 
garded  as  the  sole  test  of  civilization,  one  cannot  deny 
that  the  railroad  has  an  advantage  over  the  mail-coach 
and  that  the  telegraph  is  a  somewhat  swifter  agent  of 
communication  than  the  pony-post.  Splendid  cities 
have  risen  out  of  the  wilderness.  Great  public  institu 
tions  have  come  into  being — here  serving  the  calls  of 
philanthropy  and  there  answering  the  convenience  of 
trade.  Art  galleries  and  museums,  hotels  and  sleeping- 
cars,  theatres  and  club-houses,  books,  newspapers,  and 
periodicals  contribute  to  our  edification  and  comfort. 
Assuredly  it  would  be  affectation  in  any  man  to  quarrel 
with  novelties  like  these.  But  it  is  neither  ungrateful 
nor  irrelevant  to  contrast  the  material  well-being  which 
they  denote  with  the  moral,  intellectual,  and  physical 
conditions  of  the  age,  and  to  inquire  whether  they  have 
not  been  reached  after  some  abatement  of  the  standards 
applied  by  a  more  exacting,  but  at  the  same  time  a  more 
God-fearing,  man-loving  epoch.  Have  we  not  pur 
chased  a  diffusion  of  intelligence  at  the  cost  of  thorough 
and  special  culture,  and  are  we  not  warned  by  the  his 
tory  of  the  world  that,  unless  the  moral  stature  of  a 
people  advance  with  the  acquisition  of  wealth,  and  what 
is  called  polite  refinement,  a  descent  in  real  manhood 
will  be  experienced,  and  that  in  spite  of  all  the  arts  of 
all  the  masters? 

264 


A   Plea  for  Provincialism 

I  am  certainly  not  going  to  make  an  argument  against 
pictures,  against  books,  against  railroads,  telegraphs, 
street-cars,  sleeping-coaches,  hotels,  newspapers,  and 
places  of  elegant  amusement.  Plausible  as  such  an 
argument  might  be  made  and  enriched  by  multiplied 
illustrations,  it  would  still  fall  flat  before  the  material 
interests  of  the  time,  and  the  prejudices  founded  on 
those  material  interests.  Futile  the  abstraction  that 
does  not  propose  to  compass  some  prevailing,  substantial, 
or  fancied  need !  Nor  do  I  believe  in  the  doctrine  of  re 
nunciation  in  any  worldly  sense.  It  is  by  no  means 
essential  to  good  morals,  to  good  opinions,  to  good  man 
ners,  that  we  discard  the  pleasures  and  advantages  se 
cured  for  us  by  the  toil  of  our  forefathers  and  enter 
upon  a  self-chastising  course  of  sackcloth  and  ashes  in 
order  to  revive  a  lively  sense  of  their  virtues.  They  cut 
their  way  through  primeval  forests.  Without  the  aid 
of  steam  or  electricity,  they  overcame  all  obstacles,  cre 
ating  an  empire  unsurpassed  and  erecting  upon  it  a  sys 
tem  matchless  in  all  its  parts,  adequate  to  every  noble 
aspiration,  a  watchword  for  freemen  everywhere  and 
the  glory  of  its  authors  forever.  They  committed  this 
to  us.  What  have  we  done  with  it?  What  are  we 
doing  with  it? 

It  seems  to  me,  my  young  friends,  that  we  may  be 

likened,  not  inaptly,  to  the  children  of  a  rich  and  noble 

sire,  who,  dying  after  a  long  and  honorable  career,  has 

left  each  of  us  a  fortune.      The  need  to  work,  as  he 

265 


The  Compromises  of  Life 

worked,  is  not  pressed  upon  us.  We  have  picked  up  a 
little  flippancy,  which  he  was  too  busy  to  acquire,  and, 
thinking  ourselves  highly  accomplished,  we  take  our 
store  out  into  the  world  to  display  it  in  our  own  con 
ceit.  We  fancy  it  enough  to  label  it  "Kentucky." 
Pleased  with  ourselves  and  our  label,  we  press  forward, 
like  Orlando  in  the  romance,  seeking  pleasures  and  ad 
ventures.  To  be  sure,  contact  with  the  world,  travel 
and  experience,  suggest  new  ideas  to  us ;  but  these  new 
ideas  are  not  always  good  and  useful.  We  grow  lux 
urious  ;  we  must  dress  better ;  we  must  move  faster ;  we 
must  be  comfortable  while  we  move ;  in  short,  we  must, 
as  the  comic  song  puts  it, 

'Keep  up  with  the  times  and  the  fash-i-on." 

One  need  begets  another,  one  taste  creates  another, 
until,  lo,  the  giddy  spendthrift  at  length  appears  as  a 
cosmopolitan,  with  flashy  devices  for  putting  the  meta 
phorical  Mansard  roof  of  the  gay  world  upon  every  ob 
ject,  domestic  and  social,  that  meets  his  eye.  He  is 
ashamed  of  the  simple  old  home  ways.  The  hearty  grace 
and  natural  ease  of  his  father,  who  was  a  gentleman  of 
the  rough-and-ready  school,  are  replaced  by  the  exceed 
ing  short-horn  polish  imparted  by  the  dancing-master 
and  the  tailor.  His  very  talk  is  changed.  Instead  of 
the  plain  language  taught  him  by  his  mother,  racy  of  the 
soil,  full  of  honest  Saxon  words,  and  homely  sense  and 
wit — the  vestal  fire  of  our  English  tongue — he  is  fond  of 
266 


A  Plea  for  Provincialism 

foreign  references  and  cadences ;  and  when  he  wants  to 
be  particularly  genteel  he  drawls  and  stammers  like  a 
cockney.  As  a  matter  of  course,  he  parts  his  hair  in  the 
middle.  Neither  the  clothes,  the  food,  the  drink,  the 
recreations  of  his  childhood  content  him.  He  is  not 
warmed  by  the  scenes  nor  inspired  by  the  memories  of 
the  past.  Even  the  achievements  of  his  father,  except 
as  they  contribute  to  his  vanity,  have  ceased  to  interest 
him.  He  is  proud  only  of  his  riches  and  acquirements; 
not  the  acquirements  of  the  scholar  and  the  hero,  bring 
ing  honor  to  the  State,  but  of  the  voluptuary,  whose 
chief  aim  is  to  imitate  the  fribbles  by  whom  he  has  been 
dazzled.  He  would,  in  a  word,  throw  aside  the  robust 
commonplaces  of  his  native  land,  healthful  and  simple, 
for  the  wearying  follies  of  other  lands — all  the  while 
consulting  his  selfish  inclinations,  and  never  once  stop 
ping  to  ask  himself  how  his  indolence  is  going  to  affect 
the  label,  the  trade-mark  on  which  he  relies  and  which 
he  neglects.  The  last  thing  that  disturbs  him  is — Ken 
tucky.  It  is  become  old-fogyish  to  talk  about  the  com 
monwealth, 

"The  old  three-cornered  hat, 
And  the  breeches  and  all  that, 
Are  so  queer." 

Do  I  draw  upon  my  imagination  for  my  example? 
Will  any  of  you  pretend  to  set  up  the  Kentucky  of  to 
day  against  the  Kentucky  of  yesterday  ?    Take  up  a  list 
267 


The  Compromises  of  Life 

of  the  great  Kentuckians  who  flourished  together  during 
fifty  years;  take  down  the  volumes  that  record  their 
lives;  consider  them,  intellectually  and  physically. 
Where  is  your  Clay,  who,  as  his  old  friend,  Aris 
Throckmorton,  described  him — whether  before  the 
American  people,  or  the  American  Senate,  or  the  courts 
of  Europe — "was  always  captain"?  the  man  whose 
frown  could  awe  a  party  and  whose  smile  could  win  an 
enemy ;  the  untaught  statesman,  diplomatist,  and  orator, 
who  could  go  out  from  "the  country  of  Kentucke,"  and 
hold  his  own  with  Talleyrand  and  Metternich,  the  peer 
of  Gallatin  and  Adams — where  is  your  Clay  ?  Where 
is  your  Crittenden,  the  Bayard  among  party  leaders, 
who,  during  fifty  years,  made  the  name  of  Kentucky 
ring  throughout  the  Union — where  is  your  Crittenden  ? 
Where  are  your  Rowans  and  your  Trimbles  at  the  bar ; 
your  Marshalls,  your  Hardins,  and  your  Letchers  on 
the  stump ;  your  Menifees  and  your  Moreheads  in  Con 
gress?  Where  are  your  Wickliffes  and  your  Wards, 
the  beau-ideal  of  the  private  gentleman,  to  say  nothing 
of  your  warriors,  from  Dick  Johnson  and  the  Shelbys 
to  Albert  Sidney  Johnston,  all  giants  and  heroes  in  the 
most  literal  sense — where  are  they?  The  line  is  almost 
measureless,  bristling  with  such  names,  each  a  name  of 
national  significance,  as  James  Guthrie  and  Linn  Boyd 
and  Archibald  Dixon.  Which  of  you  will  offer  your 
self  against  any  one  of  them?  I  have  seen,  I  have 
known  many  of  them,  and  I  say  to  you  with  entire 
268 


A   Plea  for  Provincialism 

seriousness  that  they  did  in  reality,  and  not  merely  in 
the  imagination  of  their  day,  justify  the  romantic  esti 
mation  in  which  they  were  held.  You  may  consider  it 
somewhat  beyond  the  limit  set  upon  a  discourse  of  this 
kind  to  speak  of  the  living,  but,  in  carrying  out  my  con 
trast,  I  cannot  deny  myself  two  or  three  illustrative  ex 
amples  which  sustain  the  charge  that  the  present  genera 
tion  of  Kentuckians  is  relapsing  into  a  state  of  mediocre 
indifrerentiality  and  a  relaxation  of  that  provincial  pride 
which  lay  at  the  bottom  of  the  supremacy  once  enjoyed 
by  the  commonwealth.  There  are  four  living  Ken 
tuckians  who  represent  the  old  school,  the  soldierly  and 
gentleman-like  school  I  have  been  speaking  of  at  its  best, 
four  living  Kentuckians,  who,  no  matter  where  you 
place  them — in  the  Senate,  at  home,  or  in  the  courts  of 
foreign  lands — will  rank  high.  I  mean  John  C.  Breck- 
inridge,  William  Preston,  Joseph  R.  Underwood,  and 
William  O.  Butler.  The  two  latter,  though  octoge 
narians,  are  magnificent  examples  of  the  glory  of  the 
past;  the  two  former,  though  still  in  the  prime  of  life, 
are  unemployed  in  the  public  service.  I  shall  make  no 
comment  upon  the  circumstance  beyond  this  reflection 
— suppose  Kentucky  had  that  quartette  in  the  field  to 
day?  Cynical  people  will  answer,  "Well,  suppose  she 
had?"  I  tell  you,  however,  we  have  nobody  to  match 
them,  nobody  in  the  splendid  manhood  by  which 
each  is  signalized  as  by  a  patent  of  nobility,  and 
by  splendid  abilities  and  culture  which  you  cannot 
269 


The  Compromises  of  Life 

duplicate — seek  as  you  will  from  one  end  of  the  State 
to  the  other. 

I  do  not  mean  to  discredit  the  pretensions  of  the  am 
bitious  young  men  of  our  own  time;  but  I  ask  you  to 
look  at  Kentucky  abroad  and  find  a  native  Kentuckian, 
unless  it  be  the  newly  made  Secretary  of  the  Treasury, 
occupying  national  position  and  influence.  The  same 
decline  is  visible  in  Massachusetts  and  Virginia,  Ken 
tucky's  sisters  in  the  old  race  of  hero-statesmen.  The 
newer  States  have  all  the  great  guns  now,  realizing  the 
scriptural  adage  that  the  last  shall  be  first. 

There  is  a  reason  for  this,  and  I  think  I  can  put  you 
on  the  trail  of  it.  It  is  a  result  of  a  heaven-defying 
modern  impiousness,  which  scorns  the  old,  slow,  and 
homely  methods,  in  a  vain  and  wicked  effort  to  formu- 
larize  society  under  certain  universally  recognized  con 
ventional  limitations.  It  is  the  application  to  the  social 
system  of  the  centralization  theory  so  dear  to  that  class 
of  political  charlatans  who  would  square  the  whole 
world  by  a  specific  foot-rule,  heedless  alike  of  character 
istics  and  conditions. 

The  provincial  spirit,  which  is  dismissed  from  polite 
society  in  a  half-sneering,  half-condemnatory  way,  is 
really  one  of  the  forces  in  human  achievement.  As  a 
man  loses  his  provincialism  he  loses,  in  part,  his  origi 
nality,  and,  in  this  way,  so  much  of  his  power  as  proceeds 
from  his  originality.  The  same  may  be  said  of  nations. 
Cosmopolitanism  in  ideas,  in  dress,  in  manners,  is  merely 
270 


A  Plea  for  Provincialism 

an  imitation  of  that  which  is  not  our  own,  and  is  usually 
obtained  at  the  expense  of  that  which  is  inherently 
picturesque  and  strong.  It  seems  that  there  must  be  a 
focus  to  everything  mechanical  and  natural ;  and,  as  the 
most  artificial  of  contrivances  is  society,  the  gay  French 
capital  has  come  to  be,  by  a  sort  of  common  consent,  the 
social  focus  of  the  world.  So  Paris  gives  the  fashion  to 
many  things  besides  dress.  It  is  the  seat  of  the  most  ac 
cepted  cosmopolitanism.  Excepting  the  achievements  of 
its  milliners  and  cooks,  however,  what  glorious  concep 
tions  can  we  trace  to  Paris  ?  As  a  theatre  of  action,  it  is 
certainly  the  arena  of  great  exploits.  But  when  we  seek 
for  the  pure  and  noble  things  of  earth,  we  do  not  go  to 
Paris ;  we  go  to  regions  which  have  not  been  refined  out 
of  all  naturalness  and  force.  The  truth  is,  the  Parisian, 
for  all  his  boasting,  is  not  a  cosmopolitan.  Among  men 
he  is  least  adaptable.  Remove  him  from  his  beloved 
boulevards,  and  he  is  lost.  He  begins  to  wither.  He  is 
but  a  provincial — his  provincialism  being  of  the  feebler 
sort,  exercising  its  originality  on  bonnets  and  pates.  The 
English  are  the  most  provincial  people  in  the  world,  and 
the  most  achieving;  and  their  provincialism  is  of  great 
profit  to  themselves,  at  once  burly  and  offensive.  The 
German,  as  he  grows  stronger,  grows  more  provincial. 
There  was  a  time  when  Massachusetts,  Virginia,  and 
Kentucky  led  all  the  States,  each  possessed  of  a  provin 
cialism  peculiarly  its  own,  full  of  quaint  points  and  odd 
conceits,  characteristic  of  ardor,  self-esteem,  and  indi- 
271 


The  Compromises  of  Life 

vidual  effort.  This  domestic  spirit,  this  parent  of  the 
home-rule  idea  in  government,  when  highly  developed 
and  well-taught,  brings  men  out  to  their  fullest,  and  is 
the  spring  not  of  national  divisions  but  of  national  unity. 

Take  the  example  furnished  by  Virginia,  where  it  was 
the  source  and  resource  of  the  popular  thought  and 
culture  during  more  than  a  hundred  years.  There  was 
never  a  community  so  permeated  by  national  ideas.  It 
was  Virginia,  more  than  all  the  other  States  combined, 
that  brought  round  the  ratification  of  the  American 
Constitution.  It  was  Virginia  that  furnished  the  ablest 
statesmen  of  the  constitutional  epoch.  It  was  Virginia, 
among  the  States  of  the  South,  that  clung  most  tena 
ciously  to  the  Union.  It  was  Virginia  that,  desolated 
by  armies  and  tempted  by  necessity,  never  swerved  a 
hair's  line  from  the  path  of  duty  and  honor  she  had 
marked  out  for  herself,  passing  through  the  dreadful 
ordeal  of  war  faithful  and  temperate  and  courageous  to 
the  last.  It  was  Virginia  that  murmured  least  and  suf 
fered  most;  Virginia  which,  stripped  and  crippled  as 
she  is,  stands  to-day  before  the  country  a  monument  of 
all  that  is  heroic  in  man.  Our  venerable  mother !  shall 
we  not  honor  her  and  be  proud  of  her?  Yet  but  a 
province,  with  provincial  peculiarities,  why  should  she 
have  so  carried  herself  ?  I  answer,  because  of  the  home 
spirit,  the  provincial  spirit,  communicated  orally  and  by 
example  from  generation  to  generation. 

The  same  spirit  has  done  much  for  Kentucky,  and  I 
272 


A  Plea  for  Provincialism 

would  keep  it  from  dying  out.  I  would  cherish  it.  I 
would  urge,  indeed,  that  it  be  supported  by  the  special 
culture  belonging  to  the  age  in  which  we  live ;  but  never 
forgotten  nor  abandoned.  Let  each  one  of  you  improve 
himself  as  he  may;  let  him  study,  travel,  aspire;  but, 
whatever  he  reads,  wherever  he  goes,  and  however  he  is 
moved,  let  him  feel  to  his  uttermost  "I  am  a  provincial. 
What  is  life  to  me  if  I  gain  the  whole  world  and  lose 
my  province.  A  fairer  land  there  is  not.  A  nobler 
race  of  men  and  women  lives  not.  It  is  all  in  all  to 
me,  and  to  be  a  part  of  it,  to  reflect  some  credit  on  it,  to 
transmit  its  features  to  my  children,  that  is  the  object  of 
my  striving,  and  I  know  no  higher  ambition."  If  it  be 
said  to  me  that  this  sets  but  a  barnyard  horizon  upon 
the  young  man's  highway,  I  have  to  answer  that  it  will 
stunt  no  man's  growth.  It  is  not  necessary  to  go  far  to 
rise  high.  The  man  never  did  rise  high  who  was  not, 
from  youth  to  age,  warmed  by  the  inspirations  of  his 
home,  the  soul-stirring  memories  of  the  roof-tree,  and 
the  fireside. 

"Take  the  bright  shell 

From  its  home  on  the  lea, 
And  wherever  it  goes 

It  will  sing  of  the  sea; 
So  take  the  fond  heart 

From  its  home  by  the  hearth, 
It  will  sing  of  the  loved  ones 

To  the  end  of  the  earth." 

Be  sure  of  this,  that  great  achievements  spring  from 
273 


The  Compromises  of  Life 

noble  impulses,  and  that  the  soul  of  these  has  in  all  time, 
at  the  first  and  at  the  last,  refreshed  itself  at  the  pure 
fountains  by  the  side  of  which  it  caught  its  earliest 
glimpses  of  the  beautiful  and  the  great.  The  greatest 
hearts  are  ever  the  fondest  and  the  simplest,  and  those 
who  have  striven  humbly,  working  in  a  narrow  circle, 
have  usually  produced  the  grandest  results. 

"We  figure  to  ourselves 

The  thing  we  like,  and  then  we  build  it  up, 
As  chance  will  have  it  on  the  rock  or  sand, 
For  thought  is  tired  of  wandering  o'er  the  world, 
And  home-bound  fancy  runs  her  bark  ashore." 

I  did  not  come  here,  my  friends,  to  deliver  what  is 
called  "an  oration."  I  came  to  talk  to  you  of  Ken 
tucky,  as  a  Kentuckian;  for,  though  I  was  not  born 
within  the  geographic  lines  which  embrace  what  old 
Daniel  Boone  called  "the  country  of  Kentucke,"  it  is 
the  land  of  my  forefathers,  as  of  yours,  made  sacred  to 
my  heart  by  more  green  mounds  than  I  have  living 
kindred.  I  look  back  over  the  hundred  years  closed  in 
by  this  year,  and,  seeing  in  my  mind's  eye  the  figure  of 
a  certain  Grandfather  Whitehead,  who,  long  after  the 
allotted  threescore  and  ten,  could  fetch  down  his  squir 
rel  with  his  rifle,  I  thrill  anew  with  the  story  which  he 
told  me  of  the  early  settlers,  and  their  progeny,  who 
made  the  province  glorious  and  great.  I  see  the  cane- 
brake  and  the  block-house.  I  hear  the  ring  of  the  rifle 
and  the  axe.  I  smell  the  rose  above  the  mould.  Then, 
274 


A  Plea  for  Provincialism 

looking  around  about  me,  I  see — pardon  me  if  I  say  it — 
I  see  the  people  no  longer  proud  within  themselves — 
though  vain  of  what  they  possess — nor  eager  to  salute 
and  rally  to  their  representative  men.  I  see  a  miserable 
cosmopolitan  frivolity  stealing  over  the  strong,  simple 
ruralism  of  the  by-gone  time.  I  see  native  worth  ig 
nored,  and  pretence  set  up  everywhere — just  as  it  is  out 
side.  I  smell  the  mould  above  the  rose.  I  go  to  sleep, 
and  I  dream  of  something  else — I  behold,  in  the  gor 
geous  vision  which  comes  to  me  in  sleep,  a  Kentucky, 
realizing  the  ecstasy  of  Boone,  "a  second  paradise" — a 
Kentucky  populous  and  rich,  but  still  Kentucky;  the  old 
spirit  unabated,  the  old  signals  at  the  fore ;  a  Kentucky 
as  fruitful  and  peaceful  and  provincial  as  Warwickshire, 
which,  though  it  has  multiplied  its  inhabitants  many 
times  over  since  Shakespeare  died,  is  to-day  as  rural,  as 
picturesque,  as  antique,  odd,  and  attractive  as  it  was 
when  he  wandered  along  the  banks  of  its  Avon  to  see 
Queen  Bess  and  take  notes  of  court  life  amid  the  splen 
dors  of  Kenilworth  Castle;  a  Kentucky  filled  with 
genuine  Kentucky  stock,  a  stalwart  and  courteous  man 
hood,  a  chaste  and  womanly  womanhood,  hospitable, 
sincere,  and  brave.  I  say  I  dream  of  this;  but  I  should 
add  that  I  am  a  believer  in  dreams. 


275 


THE   NATION'S   DEAD* 

I  should  not  have  ventured  to  come  here  to-day — 
I  should  not  trust  myself  to  speak  in  this  place — 
if  I  were  conscious  of  any  sectional  cr  partisan  feel 
ing  that  may  not  do  honor  to  a  citizen  of  the  United 
States.  It  would  be  an  affectation  in  me  if  I  should 
ignore  the  exceptional  circumstance  of  my  coming, 
or  fail  to  be  guided  in  the  discharge  of  the  duty 
you  have  assigned  me  by  a  recognition  of  that  circum 
stance.  Herein,  it  has  seemed  to  me,  lies  all  that  is 
good  or  fit  in  the  occasion  which  brings  us  together. 
"On  the  library  wall  of  one  of  the  most  famous  writ 
ers  of  America" — I  use  the  words  of  one  of  the  most 
famous  writers  of  England — "there  hang  two  crossed 
swords  which  his  relatives  wore  in  the  great  war  of 
independence;  the  one  sword  was  gallantly  drawn  in 
the  service  of  the  king,  the  other  was  the  weapon  of 
a  brave  and  honored  republican  soldier."  The  oppor 
tunity  has  been  given  us  to  cross  in  the  everlasting 
peace  of  death  swords  that  were  crossed  in  the  death- 
struggle,  proud  of  the  undoubting  spirit  which  carried 

*  National  Cemetery,  Nashville,  Term.,  Decoration  Day,  1877. 
276 


The  Nation's  Dead 

them  in  life;  proud  of  the  fortitude  and  courage  which 
sustained  them  to  the  end;  proud  still,  though  sorrow 
ful,  over  the  tragedy  which  caused  them  to  flash  the 
prowess  of  our  era,  our  country,  and  our  race  through 
out  the  world.  The  day  will  come  when  the  picture 
of  the  soldier  who  wore  the  gray  will  hang  side  by  side 
with  that  of  the  soldier  who  wore  the  blue,  and  be 
pointed  to  with  undiscriminating  elation  by  a  common 
progeny.  The  day  has  already  come  when  the  ani 
mosities  of  war,  growing  less  and  less  distinct  as  the 
years  have  passed,  should  disappear  altogether  from 
the  hearts  of  brave  men  and  good  women.  I  can  truly 
say  that  each  soldier  who  laid  down  his  life  for  his 
opinions  was  my  comrade,  no  matter  in  which  army  he 
fought. 

We  are  assembled,  my  countrymen,  to  commemorate 
the  patriotism  and  valor  of  the  brave  men  who  died  to 
save  the  Union.  We  stand  upon  consecrated  ground. 
In  the  deep  seclusion  of  this  hallowed  spot  there  is 
nothing  to  disturb  the  mind  or  inflame  the  heart.  The 
season  brings  its  tribute  to  the  scene;  pays  its  homage 
to  the  dead;  inspires  the  living.  There  are  images  of 
tranquillity  all  about  us:  in  the  calm  sunshine  upon 
the  ridges;  in  the  tender  shadows  that  creep  along  the 
streams;  in  the  waving  grass  and  grain  that  mark 
God's  love  and  bounty;  in  the  flowers  that  bloom  over 
the  many,  many  graves.  There  is  peace  everywhere  in 
this  land  to-day. 

277 


The  Compromises  of  Life 

"Peace  on  the  open  seas, 
In  all  our  sheltered  bays  and  ample  streams, 
Peace  where'er  our  starry  banner  gleams, 
And  peace  in  every  breeze." 

The  war  is  over.  It  is  for  us  to  bury  its  passions 
with  its  dead ;  to  bury  them  beneath  a  monument  raised 
by  the  American  people  to  American  manhood  and  the 
American  system,  in  order  that  "the  nation  shall,  under 
God,  have  a  new  birth  of  freedom,  and  that  the  gov 
ernment  of  the  people,  by  the  people,  and  for  the  peo 
ple  shall  not  perish  from  the  earth." 

There  is  no  one  of  us,  wore  he  the  one  cloth  or  the 
other,  come  he  from  the  granite  hills  of  New  England 
or  the  orange  groves  of  the  Sunny  South,  who  has 
not  an  interest  for  himself  and  for  his  children  in  the 
preservation  and  perpetuation  of  Free  America.  It  is 
a  reciprocal,  as  well  as  a  joint  interest;  and,  relating 
to  the  greatest  of  human  affairs,  it  ought  to  be  not 
only  a  paramount,  but  a  holy  interest.  The  most  ob 
stinate  of  partisans,  the  most  untravelled  of  provincials, 
cannot  efface  or  obscure,  still  less  dispute,  the  story  of 
heroism  in  war,  of  moderation  in  peace,  which,  written 
in  letters  of  vestal  fire,  will  blaze  forever  upon  our 
national  tablets.  The  occasion  which  brings  us  here 
has  this  significance:  it  is  illustrative;  it  tells  us  that 
we  have  come  to  understand  that  there  could  be  no 
lasting  peace,  nor  real  republicanism,  while  any  free 
man's  right  was  abridged,  or  any  patriot's  grave  un- 
278 


The  Nation's  Dead 

honored.  The  freedom  of  each  and  every  State,  of 
each  and  every  citizen,  is  at  length  assured;  and  there 
remains  no  longer  so  much  as  a  pretext  why  the  glory 
of  the  past,  marked  by  the  graves  of  all  who  fell  in 
the  battle,  should  not  become  the  property  of  the  whole 
people.  The  old  feudal  ideas  of  treason  do  not  belong 
to  our  institutions  or  our  epoch.  Their  influence  in 
public  affairs,  as  far  as  they  have  influenced  public 
affairs,  has  been  hostile  to  the  national  unity  and  peace. 
Our  future  is  to  be  secured  by  generous  concessions,  for 
ours  was  a  war  of  mistakes,  not  of  disgraces. 

There  was  an  organic  question  left  fatally  open  by 
the  authors  of  our  Constitution.  There  was  a  property 
interest  madly  entangled  with  the  moral  nature  of  the 
time.  There  was  no  tribunal  having  power  to  deter 
mine  the  issue.  It  is,  perhaps,  little  to  say  that,  had 
the  people  foreseen  all  the  consequences,  they  would 
not  have  resorted  to  arms;  on  the  contrary,  recent  ex 
perience  shows  us  that  they  would  have  made  supreme 
sacrifices  for  the  sake  of  peace.  All  history  relates  that 
wars  are  more  or  less  the  subjects  of  misconception  and 
mischance.  It  is  rare,  indeed,  if  ever,  when  all  the 
right  lies  on  the  one  side  and  all  the  wrong  on  the  other. 
In  our  case,  and  I  take  leave  to  speak  for  both  sides, 
we  have  much  to  deplore,  nothing  to  make  us  ashamed. 
Assuredly,  the  world  has  never  seen  terms  so  liberal 
extended  to  soldiers  beaten  in  civil  broil;  or  known 
such  abstinence  from  sanguinary  revenges  during  the 
279 


The  Compromises  of  Life 

progress  of  the  strife.  It  is  necessary  to  remind  no 
one  of  the  conduct  of  Grant  and  Sherman  in  the  mo 
ment  of  their  triumph.  The  conflicts  of  this  present 
hour  cannot  shut  out  from  the  hearts  of  grateful  men 
the  spectacle  of  that  dismal  day,  when,  rising  above 
the  passions  of  victory  and  the  ruins  of  conquest,  the 
chiefs  of  the  armies  of  the  North  remembered  not 
merely  that  they  were  soldiers  and  men  of  honor,  but 
that  they  were  Americans.  It  was  our  Lee  who  paid 
the  honors  of  war  to  your  Kearny.  When  the  body 
of  Morgan  was  borne  to  its  last  resting-place,  soldiers 
of  the  Union,  assembled  by  chance  on  the  public 
square  in  Nashville,  stood,  soldier-like,  uncovered  as 
their  fallen  adversary  passed.  When  McPherson  fell 
a  thrill  of  sorrow  went  along  the  whole  Confederate 
line.  I  believe,  to-day,  that  the  assassination  of  Abra 
ham  Lincoln  is  lamented  in  the  South  hardly  less  than 
in  the  North. 

I  know,  my  friends,  that  narrow-minded  and  em 
bittered  partisans  will  say  there  is  nothing  in  all  this. 
I  know  that  theorists  will  declare  that  great  results 
are  not  reached  through  the  affections.  I  am  ready 
to  admit  the  caprice  as  well  as  the  insubstantiality 
which  belong  to  influences  of  the  sentimental  sort. 
But  every  line  of  understanding  must  have  some  bond 
of  feeling;  and  I  maintain  that  those  touches  of  man 
hood,  of  nature,  of  sorrow,  of  pride,  of  generosity  and 
•  pity,  which  make  the  whole  world  kin,  tell  us  specifi- 

280 


The  Nation's  Dead 

cally  and  with  emphasis  that  we  are  of  one  family,  and 
should  be  of  one  household  forever.  It  is  not  a  matter 
of  faith  and  hope,  but  of  experience  and  observation, 
with  me,  proclaimed  on  all  occasions  these  dozen  years 
and  more,  that  the  people  of  the  North  and  South  are 
one  people,  thoroughly  homogeneous,  differing  only  in 
those  externals  which,  the  universe  over,  distinguish 
several  communities.  That  which  is  wanting  in  us  is 
less  of  self-conceit  and  more  of  love  for  our  country;  a 
deeper,  sincerer  devotion  to  the  principles  of  civil  lib 
erty  which  are  bound  up  in  the  system  under  which 
we  live;  a  self-sacrificing  spirit  where  the  honor  of  the 
nation  is  at  stake.  To  sectionalism  and  partyism  we 
owe  our  undoing.  We  shall  owe  our  restoration  to 
nationalism,  and  to  nationalism  alone.  The  man  who 
was  a  Confederate,  and  is  a  nationalist,  must  feel  when 
treading  the  floor  of  Faneuil  Hall  that  he  is  at  home. 
In  every  part  of  the  South  the  starry  ensign  of  the  Re 
public  must  be  not  only  a  symbol  of  protection,  but  the 
source  and  resource  of  popular  enthusiasm.  Above  all, 
the  cabin  of  the  poor  man,  whatever  his  color,  race,  or 
opinions,  must  be  a  freeman's  castle.  In  the  North, 
constitutional  traditions  must  revive;  in  the  South,  the 
old  inspirations  of  the  Union. 

I  declare  here  to-day  that  the  South,  more  especially 

the  young  manhood  of  the  South,  yearns  for  national 

fellowship.     It  stretches  out  its  arms  to  the  national 

government  beseechingly;  it  entreats  the  North  not  to 

281 


The  Compromises  of  Life 

build  up  a  national  spirit  which  shall  in  a  word  or 
thought  proscribe  it,  or  those  who  are  to  come  after 
it.  The  present  generation  of  Southern  men  is  in 
no  wise  responsible  for  the  acts  of  the  last.  It  has  no 
antecedents  except  those  which  illustrated  its  sincerity 
and  its  valor  on  the  battle-field;  its  fidelity  to  its  be 
liefs;  its  fidelity  to  its  leaders;  its  fidelity  to  itself. 
These  are  but  so  many  hostages  to  the  nation  at  large. 
Instead  of  stigmatizing  it,  the  victor  in  the  fight  should 
throw  over  the  South  the  flag  of  the  Republic;  should 
place  in  front  of  it  the  emblematic  eagles  of  the  State; 
should  fold  it  round  from  the  dark  and  the  light  with 
the  instinct  of  maternity,  tenderest  to  its  crippled  off 
spring.  To  the  young  men  of  the  South  the  country 
must  look  for  the  resurrection  of  the  South.  They 
should  carry  no  dead  weights  either  in  their  hearts  or 
on  their  backs.  The  work  of  physical  liberation,  which 
is  happily  ended,  is  to  be  followed  by  a  greater,  a 
grander  work — the  work  of  moral  emancipation.  A 
sagacious  statesmanship,  even  more  than  a  generous 
magnanimity  points  to  this  as  alike  the  hope  of  the 
white  man  and  the  black  man;  the  real  restoration  of 
the  Union;  the  true  solution  of  the  problems  of  life 
and  labor  raised  up  by  the  mighty  vicissitudes  of  the 
last  fifteen  years. 

It  is  not  my  purpose  to  speak  of  current  political 
issues,  except  those  which  are  always  current,  which 
are  above  all  parties — our  whole  country,  our  whole 
282 


The  Nation's  Dead 

people — the  glory  of  the  one,  the  integrity  of  the 
other.  Those  of  us  who  stood  in  the  front  of  the  bat 
tle,  who  suffered  and  endured,  settled  the  account  be 
tween  ourselves  long  ago.  We  may  quarrel  never  so 
much,  as  honest  men  will  and  as  honest  men  ought, 
about  the  things  of  to-day.  That  is  republicanism 
which  gives  each  man  the  right,  as  it  imposes  upon  each 
the  duty,  to  speak  his  mind  out  freely,  to  make  his 
wants  known — subject  neither  to  bayonet  nor  ban — 
limited  only  by  the  injunctions  set  by  God  upon  the 
sincerity,  no  less  than  the  courage,  of  all  men's  con 
viction.  In  the  party  sense,  we  may  quarrel  to-day 
and  fraternize  to-morrow;  what  boots  it?  There  is 
no  one  of  us  who  does  not  know  in  the  core  of  his 
heart  that,  as  matters  of  fact  and  truth,  such  quarrels 
have  no  bottom  to  them.  They  make  us  angry, 
abusive,  ungenerous.  As  a  rule,  the  warmest  and 
truest  natures  are,  for  the  moment,  most  intolerant. 
The  most  charitable,  the  most  magnanimous  of  men, 
believing  themselves  in  the  right,  believing  all  who  do 
not  agree  with  them  in  the  wrong,  become  unyielding, 
sometimes  bitter.  It  is  an  attribute  of  simple  earnest 
ness.  Those  who  possess  it  should  prize  it,  and,  after 
the  event,  weigh  its  conclusions  with  discrimination. 
Let  a  counter-interest  come  between,  let  a  common 
grief,  and  lo!  the  mist  rises.  Those  who  worship  the 
same  God,  who  kneel  at  the  same  shrine,  who  breathe 
to  Heaven  the  same  prayers,  who  sing  the  same  songs, 
283 


The  Compromises  of  Life 

in  whose  mouths  the  inspirations  of  holy  writ  and  the 
precepts  of  Anglo-Saxon  freedom  are  as  familiar  as 
household  words,  can  afford  no  impassable  gulfs,  can 
not  seriously  and  permanently  be  estranged.  The  dead 
who  lie  here;  the  dead  of  all  the  battle-fields,  the  dead 
of  the  South  and  the  North,  comrades  at  last  in  the 
immortality  of  the  soul,  can  leave  us,  do  leave  us,  this 
lesson  only:  That  we  are  Americans;  that  we  are  re 
publicans;  that  we  are  blessed  in  our  condition;  that 
we  should  cherish  it  and  one  another,  for  God's  sake 
and  for  the  honor  of  the  flag!  The  poet  put  it  in 
versely  when  he  wrote: 

"I  think  in  the  lives  of  most  women  and  men 

There's  a  time  when  all  might  go  smooth  and  even, 
If  only  the  dead  could  find  out  when 
To  come  back  and  be  forgiven." 

Alas,  it  is  the  living  who  must  go  to  the  dead  for 
instructions.  The  brave  hearts  that  lie  about  us  here 
have  nothing  to  ask  of  us.  They  are  everlasting,  now. 
They  know  all.  They  are  moved  no  longer  by  the 
fever,  the  worry  and  the  fret,  the  error  and  the  folly, 
the  laughter  and  the  tears  of  this  poor  world.  They 
need  seek  the  forgiveness  of  none  of  us.  They  earned 
their  shining  titles  of  the  ever-living  God  on  the  field  of 
battle.  I  would  put  upon  their  graves  the  inscription 
which  marks  the  last  resting-place  of  two  brothers  in 
Virginia,  who  fell  on  opposing  sides,  "Which  was 
right?  God  knows."  I  care  not  to  know.  I  do  know 
284 


The  Nation's  Dead 

that  all  of  us  thought  we  were  right;  and,  feeling  as  I 
do,  I  would  visit,  and  revisit,  these  burial-places,  not 
to  light  the  torches  of  hatred,  but,  by  humiliation  and 
prayer,  to  draw  from  those  mystic  forces  of  the  invis 
ible,  which  move  us  we  know  not  how,  some  token, 
some  inspiration,  for  the  future. 

I  hope,  my  friends,  that,  though  speaking  in  the 
general,  and  making  no  effort  at  display,  I  put  the 
case  with  plainness.  All  of  us  here  are  neighbors.  We 
know  each  other  fairly  well;  we  are  moved  by  the 
every-day  promptings  of  our  lot;  some  good,  some  ill. 
We  ought  not  to  desire  a  ceremony  like  this  to  be  im 
posing,  or  grand,  or  in  any  way  ostentatious.  He 
would  be  a  poor  maker  of  phrases  who  could  not  turn 
it  to  account.  I  come  to  you,  come  back  to  you,  who 
went  hence  a  boy,  but  who  has  preserved  the  instincts, 
with  the  traditions,  of  a  youth  which,  as  you  will  re 
member,  cannot  be  brought  to  contradict  what,  in  my 
mature  manhood,  I  have  tried  to  say.  I  hoped,  when 
you  called  me,  that  I  might  contribute  a  little  to 
the  era  of  good-will,  conceiving  that  its  only  value 
would  be  its  sincerity;  for  I  need  but  repeat  myself — 
ever  since  you  knew  me — to  do  honor  to  the  patriot 
ism  and  valor  of  those  who  died  to  save  the  Union, 
gratitude  and  respect  to  those  who  have  lived  to  save 
it.  War  or  no  war,  we  are  all  countrymen,  fellow- 
citizens;  and  it  is  no  empty  sentiment  or  idle  rhap 
sody  which  seeks  to  bring  us  nearer  together.  The 
285 


The  Compromises  of  Life 

day  of  the  sectionalist  is  over.  The  day  of  the  nation 
alist  has  come.  It  has  come,  and  it  will  grow  brighter 
and  brighter,  dotting  the  land,  not  with  battle-fields, 
but  with  school-houses,  in  which  our  children,  in 
structed  better  than  ourselves,  will  learn  to  discern  the 
shallow  arts  of  the  self-seeking  demagogue,  who  would 
thrive  by  playing  upon  men's  ignorance  and  passion. 
We  have  seen  within  the  last  few  weeks  how  a  little 
generosity  in  the  fountains  of  our  political  existence 
has  warmed  the  hearts  of  men  and  elevated  the  tone 
of  public  life.  This  tells  us  simply  but  truly  that 
party  lines  are  not,  and  ought  not  to  be,  lines  of  bat 
tle,  separating  men  committed  to  deadly  strife.  It  tells 
us  that  we,  the  people — acting  as  a  nation — should  be 
sufficiently  independent,  because  sufficiently  enlight 
ened,  to  detect  the  true  from  the  false  in  our  leaders 
and  in  our  system.  There  are  few  of  us  who  do  not 
know  instinctively  the  truth.  We  are  constantly  de 
ceiving  ourselves,  constantly  and  consciously  allowing 
ourselves  to  be  deceived,  by  sordid  circumstance  and 
special  pleading.  I  shall  not  pretend  that  it  is  possible 
for  us  to  escape  this  infirmity  of  human  nature.  That 
which  I  plead  for,  which  I  have  pleaded  for  all  my 
life,  is  that  we  shall  be  governed  in  our  public  inter 
course  by  the  same  fair-minded  and  self-respecting  prin 
ciples  of  conduct  which  good  men  bring  to  their  pri 
vate  intercourse. 

Fellow-soldiers  of  the  Union:   I  cannot  close  with- 
286 


The  Nation's  Dead 

out  thanking  you  for  the  opportunity  your  generosity 
has  given  me  to  speak  in  this  place,  and  on  my  native 
soil,  for  your  country  and  my  country,  for  your  flag 
and  my  flag.  The  Union  is  indeed  restored,  when  the 
hands  that  pulled  that  flag  down  come  willingly 
and  lovingly  to  put  it  up  again.  I  come  with  a 
full  heart  and  a  steady  hand  to  salute  the  flag  that 
floats  above  me — my  flag  and  your  flag — the  flag  of 
the  Union — the  flag  of  the  free  heart's  hope  and  home 
— the  star-spangled  banner  of  our  fathers — the  flag 
that,  uplifted  triumphantly  over  a  few  brave  men,  has 
never  been  obscured,  destined  by  the  God  of  the  uni 
verse  to  waft  on  its  ample  folds  the  eternal  song  of 
freedom  to  all  mankind,  emblem  of  the  power  on  earth 
which  is  to  exceed  that  on  which  it  was  said  the 
sun  never  went  down.  I  had  it  in  my  mind  to  say 
that  it  is  for  us,  the  living,  to  decide  whether  the  hun 
dreds  of  thousands  who  fell  on  both  sides  during  the 
battle  were  blessed  martyrs  to  an  end,  shaped  by  a  wis 
dom  greater  than  ours,  or  whether  they  died  in  vain. 
I  shall  not  admit  the  thought.  They  did  not  die  in 
vain.  The  power,  the  divine  power,  which  made  for 
us  a  garden  of  swords,  sowing  the  land  broadcast 
with  sorrow,  will  reap  thence  for  us,  and  for  the  ages, 
a  nation  truly  divine;  a  nation  of  freedom  and  of  free 
men;  where  tolerance  shall  walk  hand  in  hand  with 
religion,  while  civilization  points  out  to  patriotism  the 
many  open  highways  to  human  right  and  glory. 
287 


THE    NEW    SOUTH* 

I  assure  you  that  I  consider  this  a  very  great  oc 
casion.  I  might  call  it  an  event  in  my  life.  It  is  true 
that  my  intercourse  with  banks  and  bankers  has  ever 
been  of  a  pleasing  and  satisfactory  character — and  I 
hope  equally  so  on  both  sides  of  the  counter — but  I 
never  did  expect  to  catch  the  whole  banking  system 
of  the  country  "on  the  wing,"  as  it  were,  and  to  get 
"the  drop  on  it!"  The  temptation  to  proceed  to  busi 
ness  is  almost  irresistible,  and,  if  my  friend  Haldeman, 
who  has  a  turn  for  these  things  and  is  a  magician  in 
exchanges,  renewals,  and  discounts,  were  only  here,  we 
might  pool  the  billions  which  you  represent,  get  up  a 
corner  on  the  national  debt,  and  take  out  a  post-obit 
on  the  public  credit! 

There  is  something  exhilarating  in  the  sense  of 
rubbing  against  so  much  money,  and,  for  the  first  time, 
I  can  realize  the  full  meaning  of  the  immortal  Sellers 
when  he  said:  "Millions  of  it!  Millions  of  it!  float 
ing  about  in  the  air." 

Being  a  provident  person,  and  not  without  a  cer 
tain  prudent  forecast,  I  have  always  been  a  friend  to 

*  American  Bankers'  Association,  Louisville,  October  n,  1883. 
288 


The  New  South 

the  banks.  A  man  may  quarrel  with  his  wife;  he  may 
sometimes  venture  a  suggestion  to  his  mother-in-law; 
but  he  must  love,  honor,  and  obey  his  banker. 

It  was  not,  however,  to  hear  of  banks  and  bankers 
and  banking  that  you  did  me  the  honor  to  call  me  be 
fore  you.  I  am  told  that  to-day  you  are  considering 
that  problem  which  has  so  disturbed  the  politicians — 
the  South — and  that  you  wish  me  to  talk  to  you  about 
the  South.  The  South!  The  South!  It  is  no  prob 
lem  at  all.  I  thank  God  that  at  last  we  can  say  with 
truth,  it  is  simply  a  geographic  expression.  The  whole 
story  of  the  South  may  be  summed  up  in  a  sentence : 
She  was  rich,  and  she  lost  her  riches;  she  was  poor 
and  in  bondage;  she  was  set  free,  and  she  had  to  go 
to  work ;  she  went  to  work,  and  she  is  richer  than  ever 
before.  You  see  it  was  a  ground-hog  case.  The  soil 
was  here.  The  climate  was  here ;  but  along  with  them 
was  a  curse,  the  curse  of  slavery.  God  passed  the  rod 
across  the  land  and  smote  the  people.  Then,  in  His 
goodness  and  mercy,  He  waved  the  wand  of  enchant 
ment,  and,  lo,  like  a  flower,  His  blessing  burst  forth! 
Indeed,  may  the  South  say,  as  in  the  experience  of  men 
it  is  rare  for  any  to  say  with  perfect  sincerity: 

"Sweet  are  the  uses  of  adversity." 

The  South  never  knew  what  independence  meant 
until  she  was  taught  by  subjection  to  subdue  herself. 
We  lived  from  hand  to  mouth.     We  had  our  debts 
289 


The  Compromises  of  Life 

and  our  niggers.  Under  the  old  system  we  paid  our 
debts  and  walloped  our  niggers.  Under  the  new  we 
pay  our  niggers  and  wallop  our  debts.  We  have  no 
longer  any  slaves,  but  we  have  no  longer  any  debts, 
and  can  exclaim,  with  the  old  darky  at  the  camp-meet 
ing,  who,  whenever  he  got  happy,  went  about  shout 
ing:  "Bless  the  Lord!  I'm  gittin'  fatter  an'  fatter!" 

The  truth  is  that,  behind  the  great  ruffle  the  South 
wore  to  its  shirt,  there  lay  concealed  a  superb  man 
hood.  That  this  manhood  was  perverted,  there  is  no 
doubt.  That  it  wasted  its  energies  upon  trifles,  is  be 
yond  dispute.  That  it  took  a  pride  in  cultivating  what 
it  called  "the  vices  of  a  gentleman,"  I  am  afraid  must 
be  admitted.  But,  at  heart,  it  was  sound;  from  that 
heart  flowed  honest  Anglo-Saxon  blood;  and,  when  it 
had  to  lay  aside  its  broadcloth  and  put  on  its  jeans,  it 
was  equal  to  the  emergency.  And  the  women  of  the 
South  took  their  place  by  the  side  of  the  men  of  the 
South,  and,  with  spinning-wheel  and  ploughshare,  to 
gether  they  made  a  stand  against  the  wolf  at  the  door. 
That  was  fifteen  years  ago,  and  to-day  there  is  not  a 
reward  offered  in  a  single  Southern  State  for  wolf 
skins.  The  fact  is,  the  very  wolves  have  got  ashamed 
of  themselves  and  gone  to  work. 

I  beg  you  to  believe  that,  in  saying  this,  my  purpose 
is  neither  to  amuse  nor  to  mislead  you.  Although  my 
words  may  seem  to  carry  with  them  an  unbusiness 
like  levity,  I  assure  you  that  my  design  is  wholly  busi- 
290 


The  New  South 

ness-like.  You  can  see  for  yourselves  here  in  Louis 
ville  what  the  South  has  done;  what  the  South  can 
do.  If  all  this  has  been  achieved  without  credit,  and 
without  your  powerful  aid — and  I  am  now  addressing 
myself  to  the  North  and  East,  which  have  feared  to 
come  South  with  their  money — what  might  not  be 
achieved  if  the  vast  aggregations  of  capital  in  the  fiscal 
centres  should  add  this  land  of  wine,  milk,  and  honey 
to  their  fields  of  investment  and  give  us  the  same  cheap 
rates  which  are  enjoyed  by  nearer  but  not  safer  bor 
rowers?  The  future  of  the  South  is  not  a  whit  less 
assured  than  the  future  of  the  West.  Why  should 
money,  which  is  freely  loaned  to  Iowa  and  Illinois,  be 
refused  to  Alabama  and  Mississippi?  I  perfectly  un 
derstand  that  business  is  business,  and  that  capital  is  as 
unsectional  as  unsentimental.  I  am  speaking  from 
neither  spirit.  You  have  money  to  loan.  We  have  a 
great  country  to  develop. 

We  need  the  money.  You  can  make  a  profit  off 
the  development.  When  I  say  that  we  need  money, 
I  do  not  mean  the  sort  of  money  once  demanded  by 
an  old  Georgia  farmer,  who,  in  the  early  days,  came 
up  to  Milledgeville  to  see  General  Robert  Toombs,  at 
the  time  a  director  of  the  State  Bank.  "Robert,"  says 
he,  "the  folks  down  our  way  air  in  need  of  more 
money."  The  profane  Robert  replied:  "Well,  how  in 
the  h —  are  they  going  to  get  it?"  "Why,"  says  the 
farmer,  "can't  you  stomp  it?"  "Suppose  we  do  stomp 
291 


The  Compromises  of  Life 

it,  how  are  we  going  to  redeem  it?"  "Exactly,  Rob 
ert,  exactly.  That  was  just  what  I  was  coming  to. 
You  see,  the  folks  down  our  way  air  agin  redemption." 
We  want  good  money,  honest  money,  hard  money, 
money  that  will  redeem  itself. 

We  have  given  hostages  to  fortune,  and  our  works 
are  before  you.  I  know  that  capital  is  proverbially 
timid.  But  what  are  you  afraid  of?  Is  it  our  cotton 
that  alarms  you  ?  or  our  corn  ?  or  our  sugar  ?  Perhaps 
it  is  our  coal  and  iron.  Without  you,  in  truth,  many 
of  these  products  must  make  slow  progress,  while 
others  will  continue  to  lie  hid  in  the  bowels  of  the 
earth.  With  you  the  South  will  bloom  as  a  garden 
and  sparkle  as  a  gold-mine;  for,  whether  you  tickle 
her  fertile  plains  with  a  straw  or  apply  a  more  violent 
titillation  to  her  fat  mountain-sides,  she  is  ready  to 
laugh  a  harvest  of  untold  riches! 

I  am  not  a  banker,  and  it  would  be  a  kind  of  effron 
tery  in  me  to  undertake  to  advise  you  in  your  own  busi 
ness.  But  there  is  a  point  which  relates  to  the  safe 
investment  of  money  on  which  I  can  venture  to  express 
an  opinion  with  some  positivity.  That  is,  the  political 
stability,  involving  questions  of  law  and  order,  in  the 
South.  My  belief  is  that  life  and  property  are  as  secure 
in  the  South  as  they  are  in  New  England.  I  am  certain 
that  men  are  at  least  as  safe  in  Kentucky  and  Tennessee 
as  women  seem  to  be  in  Connecticut.  The  truth  is,  the 
war  is  over  and  the  country  is  whole  again.  The  people, 
292 


The  New  South 

always  homogeneous,  have  a  common,  national  interest. 
For  my  own  part,  I  have  never  believed  in  isothermal 
lines,  air-lines,  and  water-lines  separating  distinct 
races.  I  no  more  believe  that  that  river  yonder,  divid 
ing  Indiana  and  Kentucky,  marks  off  two  distinct  spe 
cies  than  I  believe  that  the  great  Hudson,  flowing 
through  the  State  of  New  York,  marks  off  distinct 
species.  Such  theories  only  live  in  the  fancy  of  mor 
bid  minds.  We  are  all  one  people.  Commercially, 
financially,  morally,  we  are  one  people.  Divide  as 
we  will  into  parties,  we  are  one  people.  It  is  this  sense 
which  gives  a  guarantee  of  peace  and  order  at  the 
South,  and  offers  a  sure  and  lasting  escort  to  all  the 
capital  which  may  come  to  us  for  investment. 


293 


LET  US  HAVE  PEACE* 

I  believe  that,  at  this  moment,  the  people  of  the 
United  States  are  nearer  together,  in  all  that  constitutes 
kindred  feeling  and  common  interest,  than  they  have 
been  at  any  time  since  the  adoption  of  the  Federal  Con 
stitution.  If  it  were  not  so,  I  should  hardly  venture 
to  come  here  and  talk  to  you  as  I  am  going  to  talk 
to-night.  As  it  is,  surrounded  though  I  be  by  Union 
soldiers,  my  bridges  burned,  and  every  avenue  of  escape 
cut  off,  I  am  not  in  the  least  disconcerted  or  appalled. 
On  the  contrary,  I  never  felt  safer  or  happier,  or  more 
at  home.  Indeed,  I  think  that,  supported  by  your  pres 
ence  and  sustained  by  these  commissary  stores,  I  could 
stand  a  siege  of  several  months  and  hold  out  against 
incredible  odds.  It  is  wonderful  how  circumstances 
alter  cases :  for  it  was  not  always  so. 

I  am  one  of  many  witnesses  who  live  to  tell  the  story 
of  a  journey  to  the  moon,  and  back!  It  may  not  be 
that  I  have  any  marvels  of  personal  adventure  or  any 
prodigies  of  individual  valor  to  relate;  but  I  do 
not  owe  my  survival  to  the  precaution  taken  by  a 
member  of  the  Confederate  battery,  commanded  by 
the  brave  Captain  Howell,  of  Georgia.  It  was 

*  Annual  Banquet,   Society  of  the   Army  of  the  Tennessee,  Chicago, 
October  9,  1891. 

294 


Let  Us  Have  Peace 

the  habit  of  this  person  to  go  to  the  rear  whenever 
the  battery  got  well  under  fire.  At  last  Captain  How- 
ell  called  him  up  and  admonished  him  that,  if  the  breach 
of  duty  was  repeated,  he  would  shoot  him  down  as  he 
went,  without  a  word.  The  reply  came  on  the  instant : 
"That's  all  right,  Cap'n ;  that's  all  right ;  you  can  shoot 
me;  but  I'll  be  dadburned  if  I'm  going  to  let  them 
darn'd  Yankees  do  it !"  I  at  least  gave  you  the  oppor 
tunity  to  try,  and  I  am  much  your  debtor  that,  in  my 
case,  your  marksmanship  was  so  defective. 

You  have  been  told  that  the  war  is  over.  I  think 
that  I,  myself,  have  heard  that  observation.  I  am  glad 
of  it.  Roses  smell  sweeter  than  gunpowder ;  for  every 
day  uses  the  carving-knife  is  preferable  to  the  bayonet, 
or  the  sabre ;  and,  in  a  contest  for  first  choice  between 
cannon-balls  and  wine-corks,  I  have  a  decided  prejudice 
in  favor  of  the  latter ! 

The  war  is  over,  and  it  is  well  over.  God  reigns, 
and  the  Government  at  Washington  still  lives.  I  am 
glad  of  that.  I  can  conceive  nothing  worse  for  our 
selves,  nothing  worse  for  our  children,  than  what  might 
have  been  if  the  war  had  ended  otherwise,  leaving  two 
exhausted  combatants  to  become  the  prey  of  foreign  in 
tervention  and  diplomacy,  setting  the  clock  of  civiliza 
tion  back  a  century,  and  splitting  the  noblest  of  the  con 
tinents  into  five  or  six  weak  and  warring  republics,  like 
those  of  South  America,  to  repeat  in  the  New  World 
the  mistakes  of  the  Old. 

295 


The  Compromises  of  Life 

The  war  is  over,  truly ;  and,  let  me  repeat,  it  is  well 
over.  If  anything  were  wanting  to  proclaim  its  ter 
mination  from  every  house-top  and  door-post  in  the 
land,  that  little  brush  we  had  last  spring  with  Signor 
Macroni  furnished  it.  As  to  the  touch  of  an  electric 
bell,  the  whole  people  rallied  to  the  brave  words  of  the 
Secretary  of  State,  and,  for  the  moment,  sections  and 
parties  sank  out  of  sight  and  thought  in  one  overmaster 
ing  sentiment  of  racehood,  manhood,  and  nationality. 

I  shall  not  stop  to  inquire  \rhether  the  war  made  us 
better  than  we  were.  It  certainly  made  us  better  ac 
quainted,  and,  on  the  whole,  it  seems  to  me  that  we  are 
none  the  worse  for  that  better  acquintance.  The  truth 
is,  the  trouble  between  us  was  never  more  than  skin- 
deep  ;  and  the  curious  thing  about  it  is  that  it  was  not 
our  skin,  anyhow !  It  was  a  black  skin,  not  a  white 
skin,  that  brought  it  about. 

As  I  see  it,  our  great  sectional  controversy  was,  from 
first  to  last,  the  gradual  evolution  of  a  people  from  dark 
ness  to  light,  with  no  charts  or  maps  to  guide  them,  and 
no  experience  to  lead  the  way. 

The  framers  of  our  Constitution  found  themselves 
unable  to  fix  decisively  and  to  define  accurately  the 
exact  relation  of  the  States  to  the  Federal  Government. 
On  that  point  they  left  what  may  be  described  as  an 
"open  clause,"  and  through  that  open  clause,  as  through 
an  open  door,  the  grim  spectre  of  disunion  stalked.  It 
was  attended  on  one  hand  by  African  slavery:  on  the 
296 


Let  Us  Have  Peace 

other  hand  by  sectional  jealousy,  and,  between  these  evil 
spirits,  the  household  flower  of  peace  was  torn  from  its 
stem  and  tossed  into  the  caldron  of  war. 

In  the  beginning,  all  of  us  were  guilty,  and  equally 
guilty,  for  African  slavery.  It  was  the  good  fortune 
of  the  North  first  to  find  out  that  slave  labor  was 
not  profitable.  So,  very  sensibly,  it  sold  its  slaves  to 
the  South,  which,  very  disastrously,  pursued  the  delu 
sion.  Time  at  last  has  done  its  perfect  work :  the  South 
sees  now,  as  the  North  saw  before  it,  that  the  system  of 
slavery,  as  it  existed,  was  the  clumsiest  and  costliest 
labor  system  on  earth,  and  that  when  we  took  the  field 
to  fight  for  it  we  set  out  upon  a  fool's  errand.  Under 
slave  labor  the  yield  of  cotton  never  reached  five  million 
bales.  Under  free  labor  it  has  never  fallen  below  that 
figure,  gradually  ascending  to  six  and  seven,  until,  this 
year,  it  is  about  to  reach  nearly  nine  million  bales. 

This  tells  the  whole  story.  I  am  not  here  to  talk 
politics,  of  course.  But  I  put  it  to  you  whether  this  is 
not  a  pretty  good  showing  for  free  black  labor,  and 
whether,  with  such  showing,  the  Southern  whites  can 
afford  any  other  than  just  and  kind  treatment  to  the 
blacks,  without  whom,  indeed,  the  South  would  be  a 
brier-patch  and  half  our  national  gold-income  a  gaping 
hole  in  the  ground ! 

Gentlemen,  I  beg  that  you  will  not  be  apprehensive. 
I  know  full  well  that  this  is  neither  a  time,  nor  place, 
for  abstract  economies ;  and  I  am  not  going  to  afflict  you 
297 


The  Compromises  of  Life 

with  a  dissertation  upon  free  trade  or  free  silver.  I 
carne,  primarily,  to  bow  my  head  and  to  pay  my  measure 
of  homage  to  the  statue  that  was  unveiled  to-day.  The 
career  and  the  name  which  that  statue  commemorates 
belong  to  me  no  less  than  to  you.  When  I  followed 
him  to  the  grave — proud  to  appear  in  the  obsequies, 
though  as  the  obscurest  of  those  who  bore  an  official 
part  therein — I  felt  that  I  was  helping  to  bury  not  only 
a  great  man,  but  a  true  friend.  From  that  day  to  this 
the  story  of  the  life  and  death  of  General  Grant  has 
more  and  more  impressed  and  touched  me. 

I  never  allowed  myself  to  make  his  acquaintance  until 
he  had  quitted  the  White  House.  The  period  of  his 
political  activity  was  full  of  uncouth  and  unsparing  par 
tisan  contention.  It  was  a  kind  of  civil  war.  I  had 
my  duty  to  do,  and  I  did  not  dare  to  trust  myself  to  the 
subduing  influence  of  what  I  was  sure  must  follow 
friendly  relations  between  such  a  man  as  he  was  and 
such  a  man  as  I  knew  myself  to  be.  In  this  I  was  not 
mistaken,  as  the  sequel  proved.  I  met  him  for  the  first 
time  beneath  my  own  vine  and  fig-tree,  and  a  happy 
series  of  accidents,  thereafter,  gave  me  the  opportunity 
to  meet  him  often  and  to  know  him  well.  He  was  the 
embodiment  of  simplicity,  integrity,  and  courage ;  every 
inch  a  general,  a  soldier,  and  a  man ;  but,  in  the  circum 
stances  of  his  last  illness,  a  figure  of  heroic  proportions 
for  the  contemplation  of  the  ages.  I  recall  nothing  in 
history  so  sublime  as  the  spectacle  of  that  brave  spirit, 
298 


Let  Us  Have  Peace 

broken  in  fortune  and  in  health,  with  the  dread  hand  of 
the  dark  angel  clutched  about  his  throat,  struggling  with 
every  breath  to  hold  the  clumsy,  unfamiliar  weapon 
with  which  he  sought  to  wrest  from  the  jaws  of  death 
something  for  the  support  of  wife  and  children  when  he 
was  gone!  If  he  had  done  nothing  else,  that  would 
have  made  his  exit  from  the  world  an  epic ! 

A  little  while  after  I  came  to  my  home  from  the  last 
scene  of  all,  I  found  that  a  woman's  hand  had  collected 
the  insignia  I  had  worn  in  the  magnificent,  melancholy 
pageant — the  orders  assigning  me  to  duty  and  the 
funeral  scarfs  and  badges — and  had  grouped  and  framed 
them ;  unbidden,  silently,  tenderly ;  and  when  I  reflected 
that  the  hands  that  did  this  were  those  of  a  loving 
Southern  woman,  whose  father  had  fallen  on  the  Con 
federate  side  in  the  battle,  I  said :  "The  war  indeed  is 
over;  let  us  have  peace!"  Gentlemen;  soldiers;  com 
rades  ;  the  silken  folds  that  twine  about  us  here,  for  all 
their  soft  and  careless  grace,  are  yet  as  strong  as  hooks 
of  steel!  They  hold  together  a  united  people  and  a 
great  nation ;  for,  realizing  the  truth  at  last — with  no 
wounds  to  be  healed  and  no  stings  of  defeat  to  remember 
— the  South  says  to  the  North,  as  simply  and  as  truly 
as  was  said  three  thousand  years  ago  in  the  far-away 
meadow  upon  the  shores  of  the  mystic  sea:  "Whither 
thou  goest,  I  will  go;  and  where  thou  lodgest,  I  will 
lodge ;  thy  people  shall  be  my  people,  and  thy  God  my 
God." 

299 


OUR  EXPANDING   REPUBLIC* 

Among  the  wonders  of  creative  and  constructive 
genius  in  course  of  preparation  for  this  Festival  of 
the  Nations,  whose  formal  and  official  inauguration 
has  brought  us  together,  will  presently  be  witnessed 
upon  the  margin  of  the  inter-ocean,  which  gives  to 
this  noble  and  beautiful  city  the  character  and  rank 
of  a  maritime  metropolis,  a  Spectatorium,  wherein  the 
Columbian  epic  will  be  told  with  realistic  effects  sur 
passing  the  most  splendid  and  impressive  achievements 
of  the  modern  stage.  No  one,  who  has  had  the  good 
fortune  to  see  the  models  of  this  extraordinary  work 
of  art,  can  have  failed  to  be  moved  by  the  union,  which 
it  embodies,  of  the  antique  in  history  and  the  modern 
in  life  and  thought,  as,  beginning  with  the  weird  men 
dicant  fainting  upon  the  hill-side  of  Santa  Rabida,  it 
traces  the  strange  adventures  of  the  Genoese  seer  from 
the  royal  camp  of  Santa  Fe  to  the  sunny  coasts  of  the 
Isles  of  Inde;  through  the  weary  watches  of  the  end 
less  night,  whose  sentinel  stars  seemed  set  to  mock 
but  not  to  guide;  through  the  trackless  and  shoreless 
wastes  of  the  mystic  sea,  spread  day  by  day  to  bear 

*  Dedication  of  the  World's  Fair,  Chicago,  October  ai,  1892. 
300 


Our  Expanding  Republic 

upon  every  rise  and  fall  of  its  heaving  bosom  the  death 
of  fair,  fond  hopes,  the  birth  of  strange,  fantastic  fears; 
the  peerless  and  thrilling  revelation,  and  all  that  has 
followed  to  the  very  moment  that  beholds  us  here,  citi 
zens,  freemen,  equal  shareholders  in  the  miracle  of 
American  civilization  and  freedom.  Is  there  one 
among  us  who  does  not  thank  his  Maker  that  he  has 
lived  to  join  in  this  universal  celebration,  this  jubilee 
of  mankind? 

I  am  appalled  when  I  realize  the  meaning  of  the 
proclamation  which  has  been  delivered  in  our  pres 
ence.  The  painter,  employed  by  command  of  the  self- 
styled  Lord's  anointed  to  render  to  the  eye  some  par 
ticular  exploit  of  the  people  or  the  king,  knows 
precisely  what  he  has  to  do;  there  is  a  limit  set  upon 
his  purpose;  his  canvas  is  measured;  his  colors  are 
blended,  and,  with  the  steady  and  sure  hand  of  the 
master,  he  proceeds,  touch  upon  touch,  to  body  forth 
the  forms  of  things  known  and  visible.  Who  shall 
measure  the  canvas  or  blend  the  colors  that  are  to 
bring  to  the  mind's  eye  of  the  present  the  scenes  of 
the  past  in  American  glory?  Who  shall  attempt  to 
summon  the  dead  to  life,  and  out  of  the  tomb  of  the 
ages  recall  the  tones  of  the  martyrs  and  heroes  whose 
voices,  though  silent  forever,  still  speak  to  us  in  all  that 
we  are  as  a  nation,  in  all  that  we  do  as  men  and 
women  ? 

We  look  before  and  after,  and  we  see  through  the 
301 


The  Compromises  of  Life 

half-drawn  folds  of  Time,  as  through  the  solemn  arch 
ways  of  some  vast  cathedral,  the  long  procession  pass, 
as  silent  and  as  real  as  a  dream;  the  caravels,  tossing 
upon  Atlantic  billows,  have  their  sails  refilled  from 
the  East  and  bear  away  to  the  West;  the  land  is 
reached,  and  fulfilled  is  the  vision  whose  actualities  are 
to  be  gathered  by  other  hands  than  his  who  planned 
the  voyage  and  steered  the  bark  of  discovery;  the  long- 
sought,  golden  day  has  come  to  Spain  at  last,  and  Cas- 
tilian  conquests  tread  one  upon  another  fast  enough  to 
pile  up  perpetual  power  and  riches. 

But  even  as  simple  justice  was  denied  Columbus  was 
lasting  tenure  denied  the  Spaniard. 

We  look  again,  and  we  see  in  the  far  Northeast  the 
Old  World  struggle  between  the  French  and  English 
transferred  to  the  new,  ending  in  the  epic  upon  the 
heights  above  Quebec;  we  see  the  sturdy  Puritans  in 
bell-crowned  hats  and  sable  garments  assail  in  unequal 
battle  the  savage  and  the  elements,  overcoming  both, 
to  rise  against  a  mightier  foe;  we  see  the  gay  but 
dauntless  Cavaliers,  to  the  southward,  join  hands  with 
the  Roundheads  in  holy  rebellion.  And,  lo!  down 
from  the  green-walled  hills  of  New  England,  out  of 
the  swamps  of  the  Carolinas,  come,  faintly  to  the  ear 
like  far-away  forest  leaves  stirred  to  music  by  autumn 
winds,  the  drum-taps  of  the  Revolution;  the  tramp  of 
the  minute-men,  Israel  Putnam  riding  before;  the 
hoof-beats  of  Sumter's  horse  galloping  to  the  front; 
302 


Our  Expanding  Republic 

the  thunder  of  Stark's  guns  in  spirit-battle;  the  gleam 
of  Marion's  watch-fires  in  ghostly  bivouac;  and  there, 
there  in  serried,  saint-like  ranks  on  fame's  eternal 
camping-ground,  stand — 

"The  old  Continentals, 
In  their  ragged  regimentals, 
Yielding  not," 

as,  amid  the  singing  of  angels  in  Heaven,  the  scene  is 
shut  out  from  our  mortal  vision  by  proud  and  happy 
tears. 

We  see  the  rise  of  the  young  Republic ;  and  the  gen 
tlemen  in  knee-breeches  and  powdered  wigs  who  signed 
the  Declaration,  and  again  the  gentlemen  in  knee- 
breeches  and  powdered  wigs  who  framed  the  Constitu 
tion.  We  see  the  little  nation  menaced  from  without. 
We  see  the  riflemen,  in  hunting-shirt  and  buckskin, 
swarm  from  the  cabin  in  the  wilderness  to  the  rescue 
of  country  and  home;  and  our  hearts  swell  to  a  second 
and  final  decree  of  independence  won  by  the  prowess 
and  valor  of  American  arms  upon  the  land  and  sea. 

And  then,  and  then — since  there  is  no  life  of  nations 
or  of  men  without  its  shadow  and  its  sorrow — there 
comes  a  day  when  the  spirits  of  the  fathers  no  longer 
walk  upon  the  battlements  of  freedom;  and  all  is 
dark;  and  all  seems  lost,  save  liberty  and  honor,  and, 
praise  God,  our  blessed  Union.  With  these  surviving, 
who  shall  marvel  at  what  we  see  to-day ;  this  land  filled 
303 


The  Compromises  of  Life 

with  the  treasures  of  earth;  this  city,  snatched  from 
the  ashes,  to  rise  in  splendor  and  renown,  passing  the 
mind  to  preconceive? 

Truly,  out  of  trial  comes  the  strength  of  man,  out 
of  peril  comes  the  glory  of  the  state! 

We  are  met  this  day  to  honor  the  memory  of  Chris 
topher  Columbus,  to  celebrate  the  four-hundredth  an 
nual  return  of  the  year  of  his  transcendent  achieve 
ment,  and,  with  fitting  rites,  to  dedicate  to  America 
and  the  universe  a  concrete  exposition  of  the  world's 
progress  between  1492  and  1892.  No  twenty  cen 
turies  can  be  compared  with  those  four  centuries, 
either  in  importance  or  in  interest,  as  no  previous  cere 
monial  can  be  compared  with  this  in  its  wide  signifi 
cance  and  reach;  because,  since  the  advent  of  the  Son 
of  God,  no  event  has  had  so  great  an  influence  upon 
human  affairs  as  the  discovery  of  the  Western  hemi 
sphere.  Each  of  the  centuries  that  have  intervened 
marks  many  revolutions.  The  merest  catalogue  would 
crowd  a  thousand  pages.  The  story  of  the  least  of  the 
nations  would  fill  a  volume.  In  what  I  have  to  say 
upon  this  occasion,  therefore,  I  shall  confine  myself  to 
our  own;  and,  in  speaking  of  the  United  States  of 
America,  I  propose  rather  to  dwell  upon  our  character 
as  a  people,  and  our  reciprocal  obligations  and  duties 
as  an  aggregation  of  communities,  held  together  by  a 
fixed  constitution,  and  charged  with  the  custody  of  a 
union  upon  whose  preservation  and  perpetuation  in  its 
304 


Our  Expanding  Republic 

original  spirit  and  purpose  the  future  of  free,  popular 
government  depends,  than  to  enter  into  a  dissertation 
upon  abstract  principles,  or  to  undertake  an  historic 
essay.  We  are  a  plain,  practical  people.  We  are  a 
race  of  inventors  and  workers,  not  of  poets  and  artists. 
We  have  led  the  world's  movement,  rather  than  its 
belles  lettres.  Our  deeds  are  to  be  found  not  upon 
frescoed  walls,  or  in  ample  libraries,  but  in  the  ma 
chine-shop,  where  the  spindles  sing  and  the  looms  thun 
der;  on  the  open  plain,  where  the  steam-plough,  the 
reaper,  and  the  mower  contend  with  one  another  in 
friendly  war  against  the  obduracies  of  nature;  in  the 
magic  of  electricity  as  it  penetrates  the  darkest  cav 
erns  with  its  irresistible  power  and  light.  Let  us  con 
sider  ourselves  and  our  conditions,  as  far  as  we  are 
able,  with  a  candor  untinged  by  cynicism,  and  a  confi 
dence  having  no  touch  of  condescension. 

A  better  opportunity  could  not  be  desired  for  a  study 
of  our  peculiarities  than  is  furnished  by  the  present  mo 
ment. 

We  are  in  the  midst  of  the  quadrennial  period  es 
tablished  for  the  selection  of  a  Chief  Magistrate. 
Each  citizen  has  his  right  of  choice,  each  has  his  right 
to  vote,  and  to  have  his  vote  freely  cast  and  fairly 
counted.  Wherever  this  right  is  assailed  for  any  cause 
wrong  is  done  and  evil  must  follow,  first  to  the  whole 
country,  which  has  an  interest  in  all  its  parts,  but  most 
to  the  community  immediately  involved,  which  must 
305 


The  Compromises  of  Life 

actually  drink  of  the  cup  that  has  contained  the  poison, 
and  cannot  escape  its  infection. 

The  abridgment  of  the  right  of  suffrage,  however, 
is  very  nearly  proportioned  to  the  ignorance  or  indif 
ference  of  the  parties  concerned  by  it,  and  there  is  good 
reason  to  hope  that,  with  the  expanding  intelligence  of 
the  masses  and  the  growing  enlightenment  of  the 
times,  this  particular  form  of  corruption  in  elections 
will  be  reduced  below  the  danger  line. 

To  that  end,  as  to  all  other  good  ends,  the  modera 
tion  of  public  sentiment  must  ever  be  our  chief  reli 
ance;  for,  when  men  are  forced  by  the  general  desire 
for  truth,  and  the  light  which  our  modern  vehicles  of 
information  throw  upon  truth,  to  discuss  public  ques 
tions  for  truth's  sake;  when  it  becomes  the  plain  in 
terest  of  public  men,  as  it  is  their  plain  duty,  to  do  this, 
and  when,  above  all,  friends  and  neighbors  cease  to 
love  one  another  less  because  of  individual  differences 
of  opinion  about  public  affairs,  the  struggle  for  unfair 
advantage  will  be  relegated  to  those  who  have  either 
no  character  to  lose,  or  none  to  seek. 

It  is  admitted  on  all  sides  that  the  immediate  Presi 
dential  campaign  is  freer  from  excitement  and  tumult 
than  was  ever  known  before,  and  it  is  argued  from  this 
circumstance  that  we  are  traversing  the  epoch  of  the 
commonplace.  If  this  be  so,  thank  God  for  it!  We 
have  had  full  enough  of  the  dramatic  and  sensational, 
and  need  a  season  of  mediocrity  and  repose.  But  may 
306 


Our  Expanding  Republic 

we  not  ascribe  the  rational  way  in  which  the  people  are 
going  about  their  business  to  larger  knowledge  and 
riper  experience,  and  a  fairer  spirit  than  have  hitherto 
marked  our  party  contentions? 

Parties  are  as  essential  to  free  government  as  oxygen 
to  the  atmosphere,  or  sunshine  to  vegetation.  And 
party  spirit  is  inseparable  from  party  organism.  To 
the  extent  that  it  is  tempered  by  good  sense  and  good 
feeling,  by  love  of  country  and  integrity  of  purpose,  it 
is  a  supreme  virtue;  and  there  should  be  no  gag  short 
of  a  decent  regard  for  the  sensibilities  of  others  put 
upon  its  freedom  of  movement  and  plainness  of  utter 
ance.  Otherwise,  the  limpid  pool  of  Democracy  would 
stagnate,  and  we  should  have  a  republic  only  in  name. 
But  we  should  never  cease  to  be  admonished  by  the 
warning  words  of  the  Father  of  his  Country  against 
the  excess  of  party  spirit,  reinforced  as  they  are  by  the 
incidents  of  a  century  of  party  warfare ;  a  warfare  hap 
pily  culminating  in  the  complete  triumph  of  American 
principles,  but  brought  many  times  dangerously  near 
the  annihilation  of  all  that  was  great  and  noble  in  the 
national  life. 

Sursum  Corda.  The  young  manhood  of  the  coun 
try  may  take  this  lesson  from  those  of  us  who  lived 
through  times  that  did,  indeed,  try  men's  souls — when, 
pressed  down  from  day  to  day  by  awful  responsibili 
ties  and  suspense,  each  night  brought  a  terror  with 
every  thought  of  the  morrow,  and,  when,  look  where 
307 


The  Compromises  of  Life 

we  would,  there  were  light  and  hope  nowhere — that 
God  reigns  and  wills,  and  that  this  fair  land  is,  and 
has  always  been,  in  His  own  keeping. 

The  curse  of  slavery  is  gone.  It  was  a  joint  heri 
tage  of  woe,  to  be  wiped  out  and  expiated  in  blood  and 
flame.  The  mirage  of  the  Confederacy  has  vanished.  It 
was  essentially  bucolic,  a  vision  of  Arcadie,  the  dream 
of  a  most  attractive  economic  fallacy.  The  Constitu 
tion  is  no  longer  a  rope  of  sand.  The  exact  relation  of 
the  States  to  the  Federal  Government,  left  open  to 
double  construction  by  the  authors  of  our  organic  be 
ing,  because  they  could  not  agree  among  themselves 
and  union  was  the  paramount  object,  has  been  clearly 
and  definitely  fixed  by  the  three  last  amendments  to  the 
original  chart,  which  constitute  the  real  treaty  of  peace 
between  the  North  and  the  South,  and  seal  our  bonds 
as  a  nation  forever. 

The  Republic  represents  at  last  the  letter  and  the 
spirit  of  the  sublime  Declaration.  The  fetters  that 
bound  Columbia  to  the  earth  are  burst  asunder.  The 
rags  that  degraded  her  beauty  are  cast  aside.  Like  the 
enchanted  princess  in  the  legend,  clad  in  spotless  rai 
ment  and  wearing  a  crown  of  stars,  she  steps  in  the 
perfection  of  her  maturity  upon  the  scene  of  this,  the 
latest  and  proudest  of  her  triumphs  to  bid  a  welcome 
to  the  world ! 

Need  I  pursue  the  theme?  This  vast  assemblage 
speaks  with  a  resonance  which  words  can  never  com- 
308 


Our  Expanding  Republic 

pass.  It  speaks  from  the  fields  that  are  blessed  by  the 
never-failing  waters  of  the  Kennebec,  and  from  the 
farms  that  sprinkle  the  valley  of  the  Connecticut  with 
mimic  principalities  more  potent  and  lasting  than  the 
real;  it  speaks  in  the  whir  of  the  mills  of  Pennsyl 
vania  and  in  the  ring  of  the  wood-cutter's  axe  from 
the  forests  of  the  Lake  peninsulas;  it  speaks  from  the 
great  plantations  of  the  South  and  West,  teeming  with 
staples  that  insure  us  wealth  and  power  and  stability; 
yea,  and  from  the  mines  and  forests  and  quarries  of 
Michigan  and  Wisconsin,  of  Alabama  and  Georgia, 
of  Tennessee  and  Kentucky,  far  away  to  the  regions 
of  silver  and  gold,  that  have  linked  the  Colorado  and 
the  Rio  Grande  in  close  embrace,  and  annihilated  time 
and  space  between  the  Atlantic  and  the  Pacific;  it 
speaks  in  one  word  from  the  hearth-stone  in  Iowa  and 
Illinois,  from  the  roof -tree  in  Mississippi  and  Arkan 
sas,  from  the  hearts  of  seventy  millions  of  fearless,  free- 
born  men  and  women,  and  that  one  word  is  "Union" ! 
There  is  no  geography  in  American  manhood. 
There  are  no  sections  to  American  fraternity.  It 
needs  but  six  weeks  to  change  a  Vermonter  into  a 
Texan,  and  there  never  has  been  a  time  when,  upon 
the  battle-field  or  the  frontier,  Puritan  and  Cavalier 
were  not  convertible  terms,  having  in  the  beginning  a 
common  origin,  and  so  diffused  and  diluted  on  Amer 
ican  soil  as  no  longer  to  possess  a  local  habitation,  or  a 
nativity,  except  in  the  National  unit. 
309 


The  Compromises  of  Life 

The  men  who  planted  the  signals  of  American  civ 
ilization  upon  that  sacred  Rock  by  Plymouth  Bay  were 
Englishmen,  and  so  were  the  men  who  struck  the 
coast  a  little  lower  down,  cradling  by  Hampton 
Roads  a  race  of  heroes  and  statesmen,  the  mention  of 
whose  names  brings  a  thrill  to  every  heart.  The 
South  claims  Lincoln,  the  immortal,  for  its  own;  the 
North  has  no  right  to  reject  Stonewall  Jackson,  the 
one  typical  Puritan  soldier  of  the  war,  for  its  own! 
Nor  will  it !  The  time  is  coming,  is  almost  here,  when 
hanging  above  many  a  mantel-board  in  fair  New  Eng 
land — glorifying  many  a  cottage  in  the  sunny  South 
— shall  be  seen  bound  together,  in  everlasting  love  and 
honor,  two  cross-swords  carried  to  battle  respectively 
by  the  grandfather  who  wore  the  blue  and  the  grand 
father  who  wore  the  gray. 

I  cannot  trust  myself  to  proceed.  We  have  come 
here  not  so  much  to  recall  by-gone  sorrows  and  glories, 
as  to  bask  in  the  sunshine  of  present  prosperity  and 
happiness,  to  interchange  patriotic  greetings  and  in 
dulge  good  auguries,  and,  above  all,  to  meet  upon  the 
threshold  the  stranger  within  our  gate,  not  as  a 
stranger,  but  as  a  guest  and  friend,  for  whom  nothing 
that  we  have  is  too  good. 

From  wheresoever  he  cometh  we  welcome  him  with 
all  our  hearts:  the  son  of  the  Rhone  and  the  Garonne, 
our  godmother,  France,  to  whom  we  owe  so  much, 
he  shall  be  our  Lafayette ;  the  son  of  the  Rhine  and  the 


Our  Expanding  Republic 

Moselle,  he  shall  be  our  Goethe  and  our  Wagner; 
the  son  of  the  Campagna  and  the  Vesuvian  Bay,  he 
shall  be  our  Michael  Angelo  and  our  Garibaldi;  the 
son  of  Arragon  and  the  Indes,  he  shall  be  our  Christo 
pher  Columbus,  fitly  honored  at  last  throughout  the 
world. 

Our  good  cousin  of  England  needs  no  words  of 
special  civility  and  courtesy  from  us.  For  John  the 
latch-string  is  ever  on  the  outer  side;  though,  whether 
it  be  or  not,  we  are  sure  that  he  will  enter  and  make 
himself  at  home.  A  common  language  enables  us  to 
do  full  justice  to  one  another,  at  the  festive-board,  or 
in  the  arena  of  debate;  warning  both  of  us  in  equal 
tones  against  further  parley  on  the  field  of  arms. 

All  nations  and  all  creeds  be  welcome  here:  from 
the  Bosphorus  and  the  Black  Sea,  the  Viennese  woods 
and  the  Danubian  hill-side;  from  Holland  dike  to  Al 
pine  crag;  from  Belgrade  and  Calcutta,  and  round  to 
China  seas  and  the  busy  marts  of  Japan,  the  isles  of 
the  Pacific  and  the  far-away  capes  of  Africa — Arme 
nian,  Christian,  and  Jew — the  American,  loving  no 
country  except  his  own,  but  loving  all  mankind  as  his 
brother,  bids  you  enter  and  fear  not;  bids  you  partake 
with  us  of  these  fruits  of  four  hundred  years  of  civ 
ilization  and  development,  and  behold  these  trophies  of 
one  hundred  years  of  enlightened  self-government. 

At  this  moment,  in  every  part  of  the  American 
Union,  the  children  are  taking  up  the  wondrous  tale 


The  Compromises  of  Life 

of  the  discovery,  and  from  Boston  to  Galveston,  from 
the  little  log  school-house  in  the  wilderness  to  the  tow 
ering  academy  in  the  city  and  the  town,  may  be  wit 
nessed  the  unprecedented  spectacle  of  a  powerful 
nation  captured  by  an  army  of  Liliputians,  of  embryo 
warriors  and  workers,  statesmen  and  mothers,  of  top 
pling  boys  and  girls,  and  tiny  elves  scarce  big  enough 
to  lisp  the  numbers  of  the  national  anthem;  scarce 
strong  enough  to  lift  the  miniature  flags  that  make 
of  arid  street  and  autumn  wood  an  emblematic  gar 
den,  to  gladden  the  sight  and  to  glorify  the  red,  white, 
and  blue.  See 

"Our  young  barbarians  at  play," 

for  better  than  these  we  have  nothing  to  exhibit. 
They,  indeed,  are  our  crown  jewels :  the  truest,  though 
the  inevitable,  offspring  of  our  civilization  and  devel 
opment;  the  representatives  of  a  manhood  vitalized  and 
invigorated  by  toil  and  care,  of  a  womanhood  elevated 
and  inspired  by  liberty  and  education.  God  bless  the 
children  and  their  mothers!  God  bless  our  country's 
flag !  And  God  be  with  us  now  and  ever — God  in  the 
roof-tree's  shade  and  God  on  the  highway,  God  in  the 
winds  and  waves,  and  God  in  all  our  hearts! 


312 


A  WELCOME  TO  THE  GRAND  ARMY* 

That  promissory  note,  drawn  by  me  upon  the  city  of 
Louisville,  and  discounted  by  you  in  the  city  of  Pitts- 
burg  a  year  ago — it  has  matured — and  I  am  come  to  pay 
it!  You,  who  were  so  prompt  and  so  generous  about  it, 
will  not  be  displeased  to  learn  that  it  puts  us  to  no  in 
convenience  to  pay  it.  On  the  contrary,  it  having  been 
one  of  those  obligations  on  which  the  interest  compound 
ing  day  by  day  was  designed  to  eat  up  the  principal,  its 
discharge  leaves  us  poor  only  in  the  regret  that  we  may 
not  repeat  the  transaction  every  twelve  months,  and  con 
vert  this  central  point  of  the  universe  into  a  permanent 
encampment  for  the  Grand  Army  of  the  Republic. 

Except  that  historic  distinctions  have  long  been  oblit 
erated  here,  it  might  be  mentioned  that  I  appear  before 
you  as  the  representative  alike  of  those  who  wore  the 
blue  and  of  those  who  wore  the  gray  in  that  great  sec 
tional  combat,  which,  whatever  else  it  did  or  did  not, 
left  no  shadow  upon  American  soldiership,  no  stain 
upon  American  manhood.  But,  in  Kentucky,  the  war 
ended  thirty  years  ago.  Familiar  intercommunication 
between  those  who  fought  in  it  upon  opposing  sides; 

*  Grand  Army  Encampment,  Louisville,  1895. 


The  Compromises  of  Life 

marriage  and  giving  in  marriage ;  the  rearing  of  a  com 
mon  progeny;  the  ministrations  of  private  friendship; 
the  all-subduing  influence  of  home  and  church  and 
school,  of  wife  and  child,  have  culminated  in  such  a 
closely  knit  web  of  interests  and  affections  that  none  of 
us  care  to  disentangle  the  threads  that  compose  it,  and 
few  of  us  could  do  so  if  we  would. 

Here,  at  least,  the  lesson  has  been  taught  and  learned 
that 

"You  cannot  chain  the  eagle, 
And  you  dare  not  harm  the  dove; 

But  every  gate 

Hate  bars  to  hate 
Will  open  wide  to  love!" 

And  the  flag!  God  bless  the  flag!  As  the  heart  of 
McCallum  More  warmed  to  the  tartan,  do  all  hearts 
warm  to  the  flag !  Have  you  upon  your  round  of  sight 
seeing  missed  it  hereabout?  Does  it  make  itself  on  any 
hand  conspicuous  by  its  absence?  Can  you  doubt  the 
loyal  sincerity  of  those  who  from  house-top  and  roof- 
tree  have  thrown  it  to  the  breeze?  Let  some  sacri 
legious  hand  be  raised  to  haul  it  down  and  see!  No, 
no,  comrades ;  the  people  en  masse  do  not  deal  in  subter 
fuges;  they  do  not  stoop  to  conquer;  they  may  be 
wrong ;  they  may  be  perverse ;  but  they  never  dissemble. 
These  are  honest  flags,  with  honest  hearts  behind  them. 
They  are  the  symbols  of  a  nationality  as  precious  to  us 
as  to  you.  They  fly  at  last  as  Webster  would  have 
314 


A  Welcome  to  the  Grand  Army 

had  them  fly,  bearing  no  such  mottoes  as  "What  is  all 
this  worth?"  or  "Liberty  first  and  union  afterward," 
but  blazing  in  letters  of  living  light  upon  their  ample 
folds,  as  they  float  over  the  sea  and  over  the  land,  those 
words  dear  to  every  American  heart,  "Union  and  lib 
erty,  now  and  forever,  one  and  inseparable!" 

And  why  not  ?  What  is  left  for  you  and  me  to  cavil 
about,  far  less  to  fight  about?  When  Hamilton  and 
Madison  agreed  in  supporting  a  Constitution  wholly 
acceptable  to  neither  of  them,  they  compromised  some 
differences  and  they  left  some  other  differences  open  to 
double  construction;  and,  among  these  latter,  was  the 
exact  relation  of  the  States  to  the  General  Government. 
The  institution  of  African  slavery,  with  its  irreconcila 
ble  conditions,  got  between  the  North  and  the  South, 

and .     But  I  am  not  here  to  recite  the  history  of 

the  United  States.  You  know  what  happened  as  well 
as  I  do,  and  we  all  know  that  there  does  not  remain  a 
shred  of  those  old  issues  to  divide  us.  There  is  not  a 
Southern  man  to-day  who  would  recall  slavery  if  he 
could.  There  is  not  a  Southern  man  to-day  who  would 
lightly  brook  the  effort  of  a  State  to  withdraw  from  the 
Union.  Slavery  is  gone.  Secession  is  dead.  The 
Union,  with  its  system  of  Statehood  still  intact,  sur 
vives  ;  and  with  it  a  power  and  glory  among  men  pass 
ing  the  dreams  of  the  fathers  of  the  Republic.  You 
and  I  may  fold  our  arms  and  go  to  sleep,  leaving  to 
younger  men  to  hold  and  defend  a  property  tenfold 
315 


The  Compromises  of  Life 

greater  than  that  received  by  us,  its  ownership  un 
clouded  and  its  title-deeds  recorded  in  Heaven ! 

It  is,  therefore,  with  a  kind  of  exultation  that  I  fling 
open  the  gates  of  this  gateway  to  the  South !  I  bid  you 
welcome  in  the  name  of  the  people  whose  voice  is  the 
voice  of  God.  You  came,  and  we  resisted  you;  you 
come,  and  we  greet  you;  for  times  change  and  men 
change  with  them.  You  will  find  here  scarcely  a  sign 
of  the  battle ;  not  a  reminiscence  of  its  passions.  Grim- 
visaged  war  has  smoothed  his  wrinkled  front,  and 
whichever  way  you  turn  on  either  side,  deepening  as  you 
advance — across  the  Chaplin  Hills,  where  Jackson  fell, 
to  Stone's  River,  where  Rosy  fought — and  on  to  Chat 
tanooga  and  Chickamauga  and  over  Missionary  Ridge, 
and  down  by  Resaca  and  Kenesaw,  and  Allatoon, 
where  Corse  "held  the  fort,"  as  a  second  time  you 
march  to  the  sea — pausing  awhile  about  Atlanta  to  look 
with  wonder  on  a  scene  risen  as  by  the  hand  of  enchant 
ment — thence  returning  by  way  of  Franklin  and  Nash 
ville — you  shall  encounter,  as  you  pass  those  mouldering 
heaps,  which  remind  you.of  your  valor  and  travail,  only 
the  magnanimous  spirit  of  dead  heroes,  with  Grant  and 
Sherman,  and  Thomas  and  McPherson  and  Logan  look 
ing  down  from  the  happy  stars  as  if  repeating  the  words 
of  the  Master — "Charity  for  all — malice  toward  none." 

We,  too,  have  our  graves;  we,  too,  had  our  heroes! 
All,  all  are  comrades  now  upon  the  other  side,  where 
you  and  I  must  shortly  join  them ;  blessed,  thrice  blessed 


A  Welcome  to  the  Grand  Army 

we  who  have  lived  to  see  fulfilled  the  Psalmist's  prophecy 
of  peace : 

"Peace  in  the  quiet  dales, 
Made  rankly  fertile  by  the  blood  of  men; 
Peace  in  the  woodland  and  the  lonely  glen, 
Peace  in  the  peopled  vales. 

"Peace  in  the  crowded  town; 
Peace  in  a  thousand  fields  of  waving  grain; 
Peace  in  the  highway  and  the  flow'ry  lane, 
Peace  o'er  the  wind-swept  down. 

"Peace  on  the  whirring  marts, 
Peace  where  the  scholar  thinks,  the  hunter  roams, 
Peace,  God  of  peace,  peace,  peace  in  all  our  homes, 
And  all  our  hearts!" 


317 


THE  PURITAN  AND  THE  CAVALIER  * 

Eight  years  ago,  to-night,  there  stood  where  I  am 
standing  now  a  young  Georgian,  who,  not  without  rea 
son,  recognized  the  "significance"  of  his  presence  here — 
"the  first  Southerner  to  speak  at  this  board" — a  circum 
stance,  let  me  add,  not  very  creditable  to  any  of  us — 
and  who,  in  words  whose  eloquence  I  cannot  hope  to 
recall,  appealed  from  the  New  South  to  New  England 
for  a  united  country. 

He  was  my  disciple,  my  protege,  my  friend.  He 
came  to  me  from  the  Southern-  schools,  where  he  had 
perused  the  arts  of  oratory  and  letters,  to  get  a  few  les 
sons  in  journalism,  as  he  said ;  needing  so  few,  indeed, 
that,  but  a  little  later,  I  sent  him  to  one  of  the  foremost 
journalists  of  this  foremost  city,  bearing  a  letter  of  in 
troduction,  which  described  him  as  "the  greatest  boy 
ever  born  in  Dixie,  or  anywhere  else." 

He  is  gone  now.  But,  short  as  his  life  was,  its 
Heaven-born  mission  was  fulfilled;  the  dream  of  its 
childhood  was  realized;  for  he  had  been  appointed  by 

*  A  response  to  the  toast  "  The  Puritan  and  the  Cavalier,"  at  the 
dinner  of  the  New  England  Society  Delmonico's,  New  York  City,  Satur 
day  evening,  December  22,  1897. 

318 


The  Puritan  and  the  Cavalier 

God  to  carry  a  message  of  peace  on  earth,  good-will  to 
men,  and,  this  done,  he  vanished  from  the  sight  of 
mortal  eyes,  even  as  the  dove  from  the  ark. 

I  mean  to  take  up  the  word  where  Grady  left  it  off ; 
but  I  shall  continue  the  sentence  with  a  somewhat  larger 
confidence,  and,  perhaps,  with  a  somewhat  fuller  mean 
ing;  because,  notwithstanding  the  Puritan  trappings, 
traditions,  and  associations  which  surround  me — visible 
illustrations  of  the  self-denying  fortitude  of  the  Puri 
tan  character  and  the  sombre  simplicity  of  the  Puritan 
taste  and  habit — I  never  felt  less  out  of  place  in 
all  my  life. 

To  tell  you  the  truth,  I  am  afraid  that  I  have  gained 
access  here  on  false  pretences ;  for  I  am  no  Cavalier  at 
all;  just  plain  Scotch-Irish;  one  of  those  Scotch-Irish 
Southerners  who  ate  no  fire  in  the  green  leaf  and  has 
eaten  no  dirt  in  the  brown,  and  who,  accepting,  for  the 
moment,  the  terms  Puritan  and  Cavalier  in  the  sense  an 
effete  sectionalism  once  sought  to  ascribe  to  them — de 
scriptive  labels  at  once  classifying  and  separating  North 
and  South — verbal  redoubts  along  that  mythical  line 
called  Mason  and  Dixon,  over  which  there  were  sup 
posed  by  the  extremists  of  other  days  to  be  no  bridges — I 
am  much  disposed  to  say,  "A  plague  o'  both  your 
houses!" 

Each  was  good  enough  and  bad  enough,  in  its  way, 
while  they  lasted ;  each  in  its  turn  filled  the  English- 
speaking  world  with  mourning;  and  each,  if  either  could 
319 


The  Compromises  of  Life 

have  resisted  the  infection  of  the  soil  and  climate  they 
found  here,  would  be  to-day  striving  at  the  sword's 
point  to  square  life  by  the  iron-rule  of  theocracy,  or  to 
round  it  by  the  dizzy  whirl  of  a  petticoat!  It  is  very 
pretty  to  read  about  the  May-pole  in  Virginia,  and  very 
edifying  and  inspiring  to  celebrate  the  deeds  of  the  Pil 
grim  fathers.  But  there  is  not  Cavalier  blood  enough 
left  in  the  Old  Dominion  to  produce  a  single  crop  of 
first  families,  while,  out  in  Nebraska  and  Iowa,  they 
claim  that  they  have  so  stripped  New  England  of  her 
Puritan  stock  as  to  spare  her  hardly  enough  for  seed. 
This  I  do  know,  from  personal  experience,  that  it  is 
impossible  for  the  stranger-guest,  sitting  beneath  a 
bower  of  roses  in  the  Palmetto  Club  at  Charleston,  or 
by  a  mimic  log-heap  in  the  Algonquin  Club  at  Boston, 
to  tell  the  assembled  company  apart,  particularly  after 
ten  o'clock  in  the  evening!  Why,  in  that  great,  final 
struggle  between  the  Puritans  and  the  Cavaliers — 
which  we  still  hear  sometimes  casually  mentioned — 
although  it  ended  nearly  thirty  years  ago — there  had 
been  such  a  mixing  up  of  Puritan  babies  and  Cavalier 
babies  during  the  two  or  three  generations  preceding  it 
— that  the  surviving  grandmothers  of  the  combatants 
could  not,  except  for  their  uniforms,  have  picked  out 
their  own  on  any  field  of  battle ! 

Turning   to  the  Encyclopaedia  of  American   Biog 
raphy,  I  find  that  Webster  had  all  the  vices  that  are 
supposed  to  have  signalized  the  Cavalier,  and  Calhoun 
320 


The  Puritan  and  the  Cavalier 

all  the  virtues  that  are  claimed  for  the  Puritan.  Dur 
ing  twenty  years  three  statesmen  of  Puritan  origin  were 
the  chosen  party  leaders  of  Cavalier  Mississippi :  Robert 
J.  Walker,  born  and  reared  in  Pennsylvania;  John  A. 
Quitman,  born  and  reared  in  New  York,  and  Sargent 
S.  Prentiss,  born  and  reared  in  the  good  old  State  of 
Maine.  That  sturdy  Puritan,  John  Slidell,  never  saw 
Louisiana  until  he  was  old  enough  to  vote  and  to  fight ; 
native  here — an  alumnus  of  Columbia  College — but 
sprung  from  New  England  ancestors.  Albert  Sidney 
Johnston,  the  most  resplendent  of  modern  Cavaliers — 
from  trig  to  toe  a  type  of  the  species — the  very  rose  and 
expectancy  of  the  young  Confederacy — did  not  have  a 
drop  of  Southern  blood  in  his  veins;  Yankee  on  both 
sides  of  the  house,  though  born  in  Kentucky  a  little 
while  after  his  father  and  mother  arrived  there  from 
Connecticut.  The  ambassador  who  serves  our  Gov 
ernment  near  the  French  Republic  was  a  gallant  Con 
federate  soldier  and  is  a  representative  Southern  states 
man  ;  but  he  owns  the  estate  in  Massachusetts  where  his 
father  was  born,  and  where  his  father's  fathers  lived 
through  many  generations. 

And  the  Cavaliers,  who  missed  their  stirrups,  some 
how,  and  got  into  Yankee  saddles?  The  woods  were 
full  of  them.  If  Custer  was  not  a  Cavalier,  Rupert 
was  a  Puritan.  And  Sherwood  and  Wadsworth  and 
Kearny,  and  McPherson,  and  their  dashing  companions 
and  followers !  The  one  typical  Puritan  soldier  of  the 
321 


The  Compromises  of  Life 

war — mark  you  I — was  a  Southern,  and  not  a  Norther^ 
soldier :  Stonewall  Jackson,  of  the  Virginia  line.  And, 
if  we  should  care  to  pursue  the  subject  further  back, 
what  about  Ethan  Allen  and  John  Stark  and  Mad  An 
thony  Wayne,  Cavaliers  each  and  every  one!  Indeed, 
from  Israel  Putnam  to  Buffalo  Bill,  it  seems  to  me  the 
Puritans  have  had  much  the  best  of  it  in  turning  out 
Cavaliers.  So  the  least  said  about  the  Puritan  and  the 
Cavalier — except  as  blessed  memories  or  horrid  exam 
ples — the  better  for  historic  accuracy. 

If  you  wish  to  get  at  the  bottom  facts,  I  don't  mind 
telling  you — in  confidence — that  it  was  we  Scotch-Irish 
who  vanquished  both  of  you — some  of  us  in  peace — 
others  of  us  in  war — supplying  the  missing  link 
of  adaptability — the  needed  ingredient  of  common- 
sense — the  conservative  principle  of  creed  and  ac 
tion,  to  which  this  generation  of  Americans  owes  its 
intellectual  and  moral  emancipation  from  frivolity  and 
Pharisaism — its  rescue  from  the  Scarlet  Woman  and  the 
mailed  hand — and  its  crystallization  into  a  national 
character  and  polity,  ruling  by  force  of  brains  and  not 
by  force  of  arms. 

Gentlemen — Sir — I,  too,  have  been  to  Boston. 
Strange  as  the  admission  may  seem,  it  is  true;  and  I  live 
to  tell  the  tale.  I  have  been  to  Boston ;  and,  when  I 
declare  that  I  have  found  there  many  things  that  sug 
gested  the  Cavalier  and  did  not  suggest  the  Puritan,  I 
shall  not  say  I  was  sorry.  But,  among  other  things, 
322 


The  Puritan  and  the  Cavalier 

I  found  there  a  civilization  perfect  in  its  union  of  the 
art  of  living  with  the  grace  of  life;  an  Americanism 
ideal  in  its  simple  strength.  Grady  told  us,  and  told 
us  truly,  of  that  typical  American,  who,  in  Dr.  Tal- 
mage's  mind's  eye,  was  coming,  but  who,  in  Abraham 
Lincoln's  actuality,  had  already  come.  In  some  recent 
studies  into  the  career  of  that  great  man,  I  have  encoun 
tered  many  startling  confirmations  of  this  judgment; 
and  from  that  rugged  trunk,  drawing  its  sustenance 
from  gnarled  roots,  interlocked  with  Cavalier  sprays 
and  Puritan  branches  deep  beneath  the  soil,  shall  spring, 
is  springing,  a  shapely  tree — symmetric  in  all  its  parts — 
under  whose  sheltering  boughs  this  nation  shall  have 
the  new  birth  of  freedom  Lincoln  promised  it,  and  man 
kind  the  refuge  which  was  sought  by  the  forefathers 
when  they  fled  from  oppression.  Thank  God,  the  axe, 
the  gibbet,  and  the  stake  have  had  their  day.  They 
have  gone,  let  us  hope,  to  keep  company  with  the  lost 
arts.  It  has  been  demonstrated  that  great  wrongs  may 
be  redressed  and  great  reforms  be  achieved  without  the 
shedding  of  one  drop  of  human  blood ;  that  vengeance 
does  not  purify,  but  brutalizes;  and  that  tolerance, 
which  in  private  transactions  is  reckoned  a  virtue,  be 
comes  in  public  affairs  a  dogma  of  the  most  far-seeing 
statesmanship.  Else  how  could  this  noble  city  have 
been  redeemed  from  bondage?  It  was  held  like  a  castle 
of  the  Middle  Ages  by  robber  barons.  Yet  have  the 
mounds  and  dikes  of  corruption  been  carried — from 
323 


The  Compromises  of  Life 

buttress  to  bell-tower  the  walls  of  crime  have  fallen — 
without  a  shot  out  of  a  gun,  and  still  no  fires  of  Smith- 
field  to  light  the  pathway  of  the  victor,  no  bloody 
assizes  to  vindicate  the  justice  of  the  cause;  nor  need  of 
any. 

So  I  appeal  from  the  men  in  silken  hose  who  danced 
to  music  made  by  slaves — and  called  it  freedom — from 
the  men  in  bell-crowned  hats,  who  led  Hester  Prynne 
to  her  shame — and  called  it  religion — to  that  American 
ism  which  reaches  forth  its  arms  to  smite  wrong  with 
reason  and  truth,  secure  in  the  power  of  both.  I  appeal 
from  the  patriarchs  of  New  England  to  the  poets  of 
New  England;  from  Endicott  to  Lowell;  from  Win- 
throp  to  Longfellow;  from  Norton  to  Holmes;  and  I 
appeal  in  the  name  and  by  the  rights  of  that  common 
citizenship — of  that  common  origin — back  both  of  the 
Puritan  and  the  Cavalier — to  which  all  of  us  owe  our 
being.  Let  the  dead  past,  consecrated  by  the  blood  of 
its  martyrs,  not  by  its  savage  hatreds — darkened  alike 
by  kingcraft  and  priestcraft — let  the  dead  past  bury  its 
dead.  Let  the  present  and  the  future  ring  with  the 
song  of  the  singers.  Blessed  be  the  lessons  they  teach 
the  laws  they  make.  Blessed  be  the  eye  to  see,  the  light 
to  reveal.  Blessed  be  tolerance,  sitting  ever  on  the  right 
hand  of  God  to  guide  the  way  with  loving  word,  as 
blessed  be  all  that  brings  us  nearer  the  goal  of  true 
religion,  true  Republicanism,  and  true  patriotism,  dis 
trust  of  watchwords  and  labels,  shams  and  heroes,  belief 
324 


The  Puritan   and  the  Cavalier 

in  our  country  and  ourselves.     It  was  not  Cotton  Ma 
ther,  but  John  Greenleaf  Whittier,  who  cried : 

"Dear  God  and  Father  of  us  all, 
Forgive  our  faith  in  cruel  lies, 
Forgive  the  blindness  that  denies. 

"Cast  down  our  idols — overturn 
Our  bloody  altars — make  us  see 
Thyself  in  Thy  humanity!" 


325 


THE   REUNITED   SECTIONS* 

If  the  illustrious  soldier,  whose  memory  we  cele 
brate,  were  with  us  here  to-night,  his  heart  would  glow 
with  satisfied  pride  in  the  answer  which  time  has  made 
to  his  prayer  for  peace  between  the  once  warring  sec 
tions  of  the  Union,  and  in  the  spectacle  which  the  pres 
ent  unfolds  of  a  whole  people  rallying  as  a  single  man 
beneath  the  star-flowered  flag  of  the  Republic. 

I  cannot  help  thinking  that,  when  the  history  of  our 
generation  comes  finally  to  be  made  up,  it  will  be  re 
lated  that  two  mistakes  of  the  first  order  were  per 
petrated  by  the  people  of  the  United  States  the  latter 
half  of  the  nineteenth  century.  It  was  a  mistake  of 
the  South,  for  any  cause  whatever,  to  precipitate  a 
war  of  sections,  and  it  was  a  mistake  of  the  North, 
after  the  overthrow  of  the  Confederacy,  to  undertake 
a  reconstruction  of  the  Union  by  force  of  arms.  That 
the  country  has  survived  errors  of  such  magnitude  is 
proof  of  amazing  vitality;  of  a  vitality  that  draws  its 
sustenance  from  the  adaptability  and  the  flexibility  of 
free  institutions  and  from  a  popular  character  equal  to 
all  emergencies,  military  and  civic.  Man  proposes  and 

*  A  response  to  the  toast  "  The  Reunited  Sections,"  Grant  Birthday 
Banquet,  Waldorf-Astoria  Hotel,  New  York  City,  April  27,  1898. 

326 


The  Reunited  Sections 

God  disposes,  and  often  we  build  wiser  than  we  know. 
Perhaps  the  very  mischances  of  these  forty  years  of  do 
mestic  controversy  were  needful  to  make  us  the  nation 
we  are  to-day. 

It  was  General  Grant,  himself,  who  issued  the  order 
finally  withdrawing  the  troops  from  the  Southern 
States;  and,  when  we  remember  that  it  was  none  other 
than  Grant  who  stood  between  the  Confederate  sol 
dier  and  a  surrender  that  might  have  been  dishonoring 
to  American  manhood,  the  debt  we  owe  our  great 
captain  becomes  incalculable. 

There  is  just  now,  I  regret  to  observe,  a  disposition 
manifested  in  certain  quarters  to  magnify  the  arts  of 
peace  and  to  belittle  the  arts  of  war.  Most  of  us  know 
something  about  both;  and,  while  I  do  confess  that 
even  this  frugal  repast  and  these  homely  provisions — 
done  in  Grant's  honor  and  in  our  edification — are 
preferable  to  a  banquet  of  hard-tack  by  a  blazing 
brush-heap  upon  a  Georgia  hill-side,  I  shall  not  be  the 
man  to  say  that  any  of  us  is  the  worse  for  knowing 
from  personal  experience  the  actual  difference.  I  have 
respect  for  the  principle  of  international  adjustment 
through  moral  suasion  and  mutual  concession.  I  have 
respect  for  the  principle  of  approved  capability  and 
fitness  in  the  matter  of  appointments  to  office.  But 
when  a  gentleman  in  gold-rimmed  specs  and  a  swal 
low-tailed  coat,  standing  with  one  foot  on  Arbitration 
and  the  other  upon  Civil  Service  Reform,  solemnly 
327 


The  Compromises  of  Life 

assures  me  that  he  has  discovered  perfectibility  in  gov 
ernment,  I  take  leave  to  have  my  doubts  about  it.  I 
am  grown  so  pessimistic,  indeed,  as  to  think  that  the 
one  thing  that  we  do  not  want,  the  one  thing  which 
would  certainly  disappoint  us  in  case  we  got  it,  is  the 
dreamer's  idea  of  the  ideal.  Ideals,  which  exist  for 
reformers,  lovers,  and  poets,  exist  not  for  men  and 
women.  Those  whose  business  it  is  to  deal  with  life 
as  it  is,  and  who  can  afford  to  waste  no  time  on  self-de 
ceptions,  address  themselves  to  the  real,  not  to  the  ideal, 
and  feel  that  they  are  fortunate  if  they  come  off  with 
whole  bones.  The  rich,  red  blood  of  nature,  which 
makes  men  to  act,  and  to  act  promptly,  in  times  of  dan 
ger,  is  good  enough  for  me;  and  I  know  nothing  in 
American  history  more  exhilarating  than  the  episode  of 
old  Peter  Muhlenberg,  flinging  aside  his  surplice  and 
appearing  in  a  full  Continental  uniform,  exclaiming: 
"There  is  a  time  for  all  things — a  time  to  preach  and 
a  time  to  pray;  but  there  is  also  a  time  to  fight,  and 
that  time  has  come!" 

If  there  was  any  doubt  anywhere  about  the  restora 
tion  of  the  Union,  not  merely  in  fact  and  in  name,  but 
in  the  spirit  to  which  it  owes  its  birth,  the  manifesta 
tions  of  the  last  few  weeks  cannot  have  failed  to  dissi 
pate  it.  That  Spanish  gentleman  who  proposed  to  sup 
plement  the  forces  of  his  country  in  Cuba  by  inciting 
the  South  to  another  rebellion  must  surely  have  been 
the  Knight  of  La  Mancha  come  to  life  again,  but  quite 
328 


The  Reunited  Sections 

as  bereft  of  reason  as  he  was  in  the  days  of  Sancho 
Panza  and  the  lady  of  Toboso ;  though,  in  truth,  most 
of  those  supporting  Spain  in  her  ill-starred  contention 
seem  to  be  lineal  descendants  of  the  famous  Don! 
Sir,  the  reunited  sections  of  the  Union  stand  a  wall  of 
iron  between  the  Nation's  honor  and,  if  need  be,  all 
the  world ;  stand  a  wall  of  fire  between  the  stricken 
Cubans  and  any  further  hurt  from  Spain.  We  want 
no  other  warrant  for  our  act  of  war  than  the  cruel, 
the  heartless  story  of  the  Spaniard  in  America.  From 
the  coming  of  Cortez  and  Pizarro  to  the  going  of 
Weyler — three  centuries  of  brutality,  irradiated  only 
by  the  pirate's  lust  for  plunder  and  the  tiger's  thirst 
for  blood — each  succeeding  Captain-General  has 
seemed  to  emulate  Alva  as  a  rival  of  Satan  by  seek 
ing  a  second  immortality  of  damnation.  Before  such 
an  array,  historical  and  contemporary,  the  true  Amer 
ican  neither  consults  his  geography  nor  counts  the 
cost.  His  pulse-beats  are  the  same  in  Massachusetts 
and  in  Mississippi,  and  whether  the  band  plays  "Yan 
kee  Doodle"  or  "Dixie"  is  all  one  to  him !  Assuming 
that  in  ordinary  times  it  takes  but  a  few  months  and 
a  change  of  raiment  to  convert  a  typical  Vermonter 
into  a  typical  Texan,  it  has  taken  but  a  few  weeks  to 
impress  upon  the  reunited  sections  of  the  Union  the 
truth  that  we  are  the  most  homogeneous  people  on  the 
face  of  the  globe;  that  such  differences  as  exist  among 
us  are  local  and  external,  and  not  skin  deep,  and,  along 
329 


The  Compromises  of  Life 

with  this  lesson,  to  reawaken  in  all  hearts  Decatur's 
ringing  words: 

"Our  country — may  she  be  ever  in  the  right — but, 
right  or  wrong,  our  country!" 


330 


FRANCIS  SCOTT  KEY* 

The  Key  Monument  Association,  to  which  is  due  the 
act  of  tardy  justice  whose  completion  we  are  here  to 
celebrate,  has  reason  to  be  proud  of  the  success  which 
has  crowned  its  labor  of  love.  Within  something  less 
than  four  years  from  the  date  of  its  organization,  it  has 
reared  this  beautiful  and  imposing  memorial  to  the 
author  of  "The  Star-Spangled  Banner."  Beneath  it  lie 
the  mortal  remains  of  Francis  Scott  Key,  and  of  his 
wife,  Mary  Tayloe  Key.  Hitherto  unmarked,  except  in 
the  humblest  way,  their  final  resting-place  on  earth  has 
been  at  last  separated  from  among  the  surrounding  mul 
titude  of  less-distinguished  graves,  to  be  at  once  an  altar 
and  a  shrine,  known  among  men,  wherever  liberty 
makes  her  home,  and  consecrate  to  all  hearts  wherein 
the  love  of  liberty  dwells. 

One  cannot  help  thinking  it  something  more  than  a 
coincidence  that  this  monument  is  erected,  and  that 
these  services  are  held,  at  a  moment  when  not  alone  is 

*  Delivered  at  the  dedication  of  the  monument  over  the  grave  of  the 
author  of  "The  Star-Spangled  Banner,"  Frederick,  Md.,  Tuesday,  August 
9,  1898. 

331 


The  Compromises  of  Life 

the  country  engaged  in  foreign  war,  but  also  at  a  mo 
ment  when  the  words  of  Key's  immortal  anthem  ring 
in  the  memory  and  start  to  the  lips  of  all  the  people  of 
all  the  States  and  sections  of  the  Union.  But  a  little 
while  ago  this  seemed  a  thing  impossible  of  realization 
during  the  life  of  the  generation  of  men  which  is  pass 
ing  away.  Years  of  embittered  civil  strife,  with  their 
wounds  kept  open  by  years  of  succeeding  political  con 
troversy,  were  never  before  thus  ended ;  nor  did  ever  a 
people  so  promptly  obey  the  laws  alike  of  reason,  race, 
and  nature,  from  which,  as  from  some  magic  fountain, 
the  American  Republic  sprang. 

Nothing  in  romance,  or  in  poetry,  surpasses  the  won 
drous  story  of  this  Republic.  Why  Washington,  the 
Virginia  planter,  and  why  Franklin,  the  Pennsylvania 
printer?  Another  might  have  been  chosen  to  lead  the 
Continental  armies:  a  brilliant  and  distinguished  sol 
dier;  but,  as  we  now  know,  not  only  a  corrupt  adven 
turer,  but  a  traitor,  who  preceded  Arnold,  and  who,  had 
he  been  commander  of  the  forces  at  Valley  Forge,  would 
have  betrayed  his  adopted  country  for  the  coronet  which 
Washington  despised.  In  many  ways  was  Franklin  an 
experiment,  and,  as  his  familiars  might  have  thought,  a 
dangerous  experiment,  to  be  appointed  the  representa 
tive  of  the  colonies  in  London  and  in  Paris,  for,  as  they 
knew,  and  as  we  now  know,  he  was  a  stalwart,  self- 
indulgent  man,  apparently  little  given  either  to  pru 
dence  or  to  courtliness.  What  was  it  that  singled  out 
332 


Francis  Scott  Key 

these  two  men  from  all  others  and  designated  them  to  be 
the  chiefs  of  the  military  and  diplomatic  establishments 
set  up  by  the  provincial  gentlemen  whose  Declaration 
of  Independence  was  not  merely  to  establish  a  new  na 
tion  but  to  create  a  new  world  ?  It  was  as  clearly  the 
inspiration  of  the  Almighty  as,  a  century  later,  was  the 
faith  of  Lincoln  in  Grant,  whom  he  had  never  seen  and 
had  reason  to  distrust.  It  was  as  clearly  the  inspiration 
of  the  Almighty  as  that,  in  every  turn  of  fortune,  God 
has  stood  by  the  Republic ;  not  less  in  the  strange  vicissi 
tudes  of  the  Wars  of  the  Revolution  and  of  1812,  than 
in  those  of  the  war  of  sections ;  in  the  raising  up  of  Paul 
Jones  and  Perry,  of  Preble  and  Hull,  when,  discouraged 
upon  the  land,  the  sea  was  to  send  God's  people  mes 
sages  of  victory,  and  in  the  striking  down  of  Albert  Sid 
ney  Johnston  and  Stonewall  Jackson,  when  they  were 
sweeping  all  before  them.  Inscrutable  are  the  ways  of 
Providence  to  man.  Philosophers  may  argue  as  they 
will,  and  rationalism  may  draw  its  conclusions ;  but  the 
mysterious  power  unexplained  by  either  has,  from  the 
beginning  of  time,  ruled  the  destinies  of  men. 

Back  of  these  forces  of  life  and  thought  there  is  yet 
another  force  equally  inspired  of  God  and  equally  essen 
tial  to  the  exaltation  of  man,  a  force  without  which  the 
world  does  not  move  except  downward,  the  force  of  the 
imagination  which  idealizes  the  deeds  of  men  and  trans 
lates  their  meaning  into  words.  It  may  be  concluded 
that  Washington  at  Monmouth  and  Franklin  at  Ver- 
333 


The  Compromises  of  Life 

sallies  were  not  thinking  a  great  deal  of  what  the  world 
was  like  to  say.  But  there  are  beings  so  constituted 
that  they  cannot  act,  they  can  only  think,  and  these  are 
the  Homers  who  relate  in  heroic  measure,  the  Shake- 
speares  who  sing  in  strains  of  heavenly  music.  Among 
the  progeny  of  these  was  Francis  Scott  Key. 

The  son  of  a  Revolutionary  soldier,  he  was  born 
August  9,  1780,  not  far  away  from  the  spot  where  we 
are  now  assembled,  and  died  in  Baltimore  January  n, 
1843.  His  life  of  nearly  sixty-three  years  was  an  un 
broken  idyl  of  tranquil  happiness;  amid  congenial 
scenes;  among  kindred  people;  blessed  by  wedded  love 
and  many  children,  and  accompanied  by  the  successful 
pursuit  of  the  learned  profession  he  had  chosen  for  him 
self.  Goldsmith's  sketch  of  the  village  preacher  may 
not  be  inaptly  quoted  to  describe  his  unambitious  and 
unobtrusive  career : 

"Remote  from  towns  he  ran  his  godly  race, 
Nor  e'er  had  changed,  nor  wished  to  change,  his  place." 

Yet  it  was  reserved  for  this  constant  and  modest  gen 
tleman  to  leave  behind  him  a  priceless  legacy  to  his 
countrymen  and  to  identify  his  name  for  all  time  with 
his  country's  flag. 

"The  Star-Spangled  Banner"  owed  very  little  to 
chance.  It  was  the  emanation  of  a  patriotic  fervor  as 
sincere  and  natural  as  it  was  simple  and  noble.  It 
334 


Francis  Scott  Key 

sprang  from  one  of  those  glorious  inspirations  which, 
coming  to  an  author  unbidden,  seizes  at  once  upon  the 
hearts  and  minds  of  men.  The  occasion  seemed  to  have 
been  created  for  the  very  purpose.  The  man  and  the 
hour  were  met,  and  the  song  came;  and  truly  was  song 
never  yet  born  amid  such  scenes.  We  explore  the  pages 
of  folk-lore,  we  read  the  story  of  popular  music,  in  vain, 
to  find  the  like.  Even  the  authorship  of  the  English 
national  anthem  is  in  dispute.  The  "Marseillaise"  did, 
indeed,  owe  its  being  to  the  passions  of  war,  and  burst 
forth  in  profuse  strains  of  melody  above  the  clang  of 
arms ;  but  it  was  attended  by  those  theatrical  accessories 
which  preside  over  and  minister  to  Latin  emotion,  and 
seem  indispensable  to  its  developments,  and  it  is  believed 
to  have  derived  as  much  of  its  enthusiasm  from  the 
wine-cup  as  from  the  drum-beat.  Key's  song  was  the 
very  child  of  battle.  It  was  rocked  by  cannon  in  the 
cradle  of  the  deep.  Its  swaddling  clothes  were  the 
Stars  and  Stripes  its  birth  proclaimed.  Its  coming  was 
heralded  by  shot  and  shell,  and,  from  its  baptism  of 
fire,  a  nation  of  freemen  clasped  it  to  its  bosom.  It 
was  to  be  thenceforth  and  forever  freedom's  Gloria 
in  Excelsis. 

The  circumstances  which  ushered  it  into  the  world, 
hardly  less  than  the  words  of  the  poem,  are  full  of 
patriotic  exhilaration.  It  was  during  the  darkest  days 
of  our  second  war  of  independence.  An  English  army 
had  invaded  and  occupied  the  seat  of  the  National  Gov- 
335 


The  Compromises  of  Life 

ernment  and  had  burned  the  Capitol  of  the  nation.  An 
English  squadron  was  in  undisputed  possession  of  the 
Chesapeake  Bay.  There  being  nothing  of  interest  or 
value  left  within  the  vicinity  of  Washington  to  detain 
them,  the  British  were  massing  their  land  and  naval 
forces  for  other  conquests,  and,  as  their  ships  sailed 
down  the  Potomac,  Dr.  William  Beanes,  a  prominent 
citizen  of  Maryland,  who  had  been  arrested  at  his  home 
in  Upper  Marlboro,  charged  with  some  offence,  real  or 
fancied,  was  carried  off  a  prisoner. 

It  was  to  secure  the  liberation  of  this  gentleman,  his 
neighbor  and  friend,  that  Francis  Scott  Key  obtained 
leave  of  the  President  to  go  to  the  British  Admiral  un 
der  a  flag  of  truce.  He  was  conveyed  by  the  cartel-boat 
used  for  the  exchange  of  prisoners  and  accompanied  by 
the  flag  officer  of  the  Government.  They  proceeded 
down  the  bay  from  Baltimore  and  found  the  British 
fleet  at  the  mouth  of  the  Potomac. 

Mr.  Key  was  courteously  received  by  Admiral  Coch- 
rane;  but  he  was  not  encouraged  as  to  the  success  of  his 
mission  until  letters  from  the  English  officers  wounded 
at  Blandensburg  and  left  in  the  care  of  the  Americans 
were  delivered  to  the  friends  on  the  fleet  to  whom  they 
had  been  written.  These  bore  such  testimony  to  the 
kindness  with  which  they  had  been  treated  that  it  was 
finally  agreed  that  Dr.  Beanes  should  be  released ;  but, 
as  an  advance  upon  Baltimore  was  about  to  be  made,  it 
was  required  that  the  party  of  Americans  should  remain 
336 


Francis  Scott  Key 

under  guard  on  board  their  own  vessel  until  these  oper 
ations  were  concluded.  Thus  it  was  that,  the  night  of 
September  14,  1814,  Key  witnessed  the  bombardment  of 
Fort  McHenry,  which  his  song  was  to  render  illus 
trious. 

He  did  not  quit  the  deck  the  long  night  through. 
With  his  single  companion,  the  flag  officer,  he  watched 
every  shell  from  the  moment  it  was  fired  until  it  fell, 
"listening  with  breathless  interest  to  hear  if  an  explo 
sion  followed."  While  the  cannonading  continued 
they  needed  no  further  assurance  that  their  countrymen 
had  not  capitulated.  "But,"  I  quote  the  words  of  Chief 
Justice  Taney,  repeating  the  account  given  him  by  Key 
immediately  after,  "it  suddenly  ceased  some  time  before 
day ;  and,  as  they  had  no  communication  with  any  of  the 
enemy's  ships,  they  did  not  know  whether  the  fort  had 
surrendered,  or  the  attack  upon  it  had  been  abandoned. 
They  paced  the  deck  the  residue  of  the  night  in  painful 
suspense,  watching  with  intense  anxiety  for  the  return 
of  day,  and  looking  every  few  minutes  at  their  watches 
to  see  how  long  they  must  wait  for  it ;  and,  as  soon  as  it 
dawned  and  before  it  was  light  enough  to  see  objects  at 
a  distance,  their  glasses  were  turned  to  the  fort,  uncer 
tain  whether  they  should  see  there  the  Stars  and  Stripes 
or  the  flag  of  the  enemy."  Blessed  vigil!  that  its 
prayers  were  not  in  vain ;  glorious  vigil !  that  it  gave  us 
"The  Star-Spangled  Banner" ! 

During  the  night  the  conception  of  the  poem  began  to 
337 


The  Compromises  of  Life 

form  itself  in  Key's  mind.  With  the  early  glow  of  the 
morning,  when  the  long  agony  of  suspense  had  been 
turned  into  the  rapture  of  exultation,  his  feeling  found 
expression  in  completed  lines  of  verse,  which  he  wrote 
upon  the  back  of  a  letter  he  happened  to  have  in  his  pos 
session.  He  finished  the  piece  on  the  boat  that  carried 
him  ashore  and  wrote  out  a  clear  copy  that  same  evening 
at  his  hotel  in  Baltimore.  Next  day  he  read  this  to  his 
friend  and  kinsman,  Judge  Nicholson,  who  was  so 
pleased  with  it  that  he  carried  it  to  the  office  of  the  Bal 
timore  American,  where  it  was  put  in  type  by  a  young 
apprentice,  Samuel  Sands  by  name,  and  thence  issued  as 
a  broadside.  Within  an  hour  after  it  was  circulating 
all  over  the  city,  hailed  with  delight  by  the  excited  peo 
ple.  Published  in  the  succeeding  issue  of  the  American, 
and  elsewhere  reprinted,  it  went  straight  to  the  popular 
heart.  It  was  quickly  seized  for  musical  adaptation. 
First  sung  in  a  tavern  adjoining  the  Holliday  Street 
Theatre  in  Baltimore,  by  Charles  Durang,  an  actor, 
whose  brother,  Ferdinand  Durang,  had  set  it  to  an  old 
air,  its  production  on  the  stage  of  that  theatre  was  the 
occasion  of  spontaneous  and  unbounded  enthusiasm. 
Wherever  it  was  heard  its  effect  was  electrical,  and 
thenceforward  it  was  universally  accepted  as  the  na 
tional  anthem. 

The  poem  tells  its  own  story,  and  never  a  truer,  for 
every  word  comes  direct  from  a  great  heroic  soul,  pow 
der-stained  and  dipped,  as  it  were,  in  sacred  blood. 
338 


Francis  Scott  Key 

"O,  say,  can  you  see  by  the  dawn's  early  light 

What  so  proudly  we   hailed  at  the  twilight's  last 

gleaming, 

Whose  broad  stripes  and  bright  stars  through  the  per 
ilous  fight, 

O'er  the  ramparts  we  watched,  were  so  gallantly 
streaming!" 

The  two  that  walked  the  deck  of  the  cartel-boat  had 
waited  long.  They  had  counted  the  hours  as  they 
watched  the  course  of  the  battle.  But  a  deeper  anxiety 
yet  is  to  possess  them.  The  firing  has  ceased.  Ominous 
silence!  While  cannon  roared  they  knew  that  the  fort 
held  out.  While  the  sky  was  lit  by  messengers  of  death 
they  could  see  the  national  colors  flying  above  it. 

• — "the  rockets'  red  glare  and  bombs  bursting  in  air 
Gave  proof  through  the  night  that  our  flag  was  still 
there." 

But  there  comes  an  end  at  last  to  waiting  and  watch 
ing;  and  as  the  first  rays  of  the  sun  shoot  above  the 
horizon  and  gild  the  eastern  shore,  behold  the  sight  that 
gladdens  their  eyes  as  it — 

— "catches  the  gleam  of  the  morning's  first  beam, 
In  full  glory  reflected  now  shines  in  the  stream," 

for  there,  over  the  battlements  of  McHenry,  the  Stars 
and  Stripes  float  defiant  on  the  breeze,  while  all  around 
evidences  multiply  that  the  attack  has  failed,  that  the 
Americans  have  successfully  resisted  it,  and  that  the 
339 


The  Compromises  of  Life 

British  are  withdrawing  their  forces.  For  then,  and 
for  now,  and  for  all  time,  come  the  words  of  the  an 
them — 

"Oh,  thus  be  it  ever,  when  freemen  shall  stand 
Between  their  loved  homes   and  the  war's   desola 
tion! 
Blest  with  victory  and  peace,  may  the  heaven-rescued 

land 

Praise  the  power  that  hath  made  and  preserved  us  a 
nation !" 

for— 

— "conquer  we  must,  when  our  cause  it  is  just, 

And  this  be  our  motto,  'In  God  is  our  trust' ; 

And  the  star-spangled  banner  in  triumph  shall  wave 

O'er  the  land  of  the  free  and  the  home  of  the  brave!" 

The  Star-Spangled  Banner !  Was  ever  flag  so  beau 
tiful,  did  ever  flag  so  fill  the  souls  of  men  ?  The  love  of 
woman;  the  sense  of  duty;  the  thirst  for  glory;  the 
heart-throbbing  that  impels  the  humblest  American  to 
stand  by  his  colors  fearless  in  the  defence  of  his  native 
soil  and  holding  it  sweet  to  die  for  it — the  yearning 
which  draws  him  to  it  when  exiled  from  it — its  free 
institutions  and  its  blessed  memories,  all  are  embodied 
and  symbolized  by  the  broad  stripes  and  bright  stars  of 
the  nation's  emblem,  all  live  again  in  the  lines  and  tones 
of  Key's  anthem.  Two  or  three  began  the  song,  mill 
ions  join  the  chorus.  They  are  singing  it  in  Porto 
Rican  trenches  and  on  the  ramparts  of  Santiago,  and  its 
340 


Francis  Scott  Key 

echoes,  borne  upon  the  wings  of  morning,  come  rolling 
back  from  far-away  Manila;  the  soldier's  message  to 
the  soldier ;  the  hero's  shibboleth  in  battle ;  the  patriot's 
solace  in  death !  Even  to  the  lazy  sons  of  peace  who  lag 
at  home — the  pleasure-seekers  whose  merry-making 
turns  the  night  to  day — those  stirring  strains  come  as  a 
sudden  trumpet-call,  and,  above  the  sounds  of  revelry, 
subjugate  for  the  moment  to  a  stronger  power,  rises 
wave  upon  wave  of  melodious  resonance,  the  idler's  aim 
less  but  heartfelt  tribute  to  his  country  and  his  country's 
flag. 

Since  "The  Star-Spangled  Banner"  was  written 
nearly  a  century  has  come  and  gone.  The  drums  and 
tramplings  of  more  than  half  its  years  have  passed  over 
the  grave  of  Francis  Scott  Key.  Here  at  last  he  rests 
forever.  Here  at  last  his  tomb  is  fitly  made.  When  his 
eyes  closed  upon  the  scenes  of  this  life  their  last  gaze 
beheld  the  ensign  of  the  Republic  "full-high  advanced, 
its  arms  and  trophies  streaming  in  their  original  lustre, 
not  a  stripe  erased  or  polluted  nor  a  single  star  ob 
scured."  If  happily  they  were  spared  the  spectacle  of  a 
severed  Union,  and  "a  land  rent  by  civil  feud  and 
drenched  in  fraternal  blood,"  it  may  be  that  somewhere 
beyond  the  stars  his  gentle  spirit  now  looks  down  upon  a 
nation  awakened  from  its  sleep  of  death  and  restored  to 
its  greater  and  its  better  self,  and  known  and  honored, 
as  never  before  throughout  the  world.  While  Key 
lived  there  was  but  a  single  paramount  issue,  about 


The  Compromises  of  Life 

which  all  other  issues  circled,  the  Constitution  and  the 
Union.  The  problems  of  the  Constitution  and  the 
Union  solved,  the  past  secure,  turn  we  to  the  future ;  no 
longer  a  huddle  of  petty  sovereignties,  held  together  by 
a  rope  of  sand,  no  longer  a  body  of  mercenary  shopkeep 
ers  worshipping  rather  the  brand  upon  the  dollar  than 
the  eagle  on  the  shield ;  no  longer  a  brood  of  provincial 
laggards,  hanging  with  bated  breath  upon  the  move 
ments  of  mankind,  afraid  to  trust  themselves  away  from 
home,  or  to  put  their  principles  to  the  test  of  progress 
and  of  arms;  but  a  nation,  and  a  leader  of  nations;  a 
world-power  which  durst  face  imperialism  upon  its  own 
ground  with  Republicanism,  and  with  it  dispute  the 
future  of  civilization.  It  is  the  will  of  God;  let  not 
man  gainsay.  Let  not  man  gainsay  until  the  word  of 
God  has  been  carried  to  the  furthermost  ends  of  the 
earth;  not  until  freedom  is  the  heritage  of  all  His 
creatures;  not  until  the  blessings  which  He  has  given 
us  are  shared  by  His  people  in  all  lands;  not  until  Latin 
licentiousness  fostered  by  modern  wealth  and  culture 
and  art,  has  been  expiated  by  fire,  and  Latin  corruption 
and  cruelty  have  disappeared  from  the  government  of 
men ;  not  until  that  sober-suited  Anglo-Saxonism,  which 
born  at  Runnymede,  was  to  end  neither  at  Yorktown 
nor  at  Appomattox,  has  made,  at  one  and  the  same  time, 
another  map  of  Christendom  and  a  new  race  of  Chris 
tians  and  yeomen,  equally  soldiers  of  the  sword  and  of 
the  cross,  even  in  Africa  and  in  Asia,  as  we  have  made 
342 


Francis  Scott  Key 

them  here  in  America.  Thus,  and  thus  alone,  and 
wherever  the  winds  of  Heaven  blow,  shall  fly  the  spirit 
if  not  the  actuality  of  the  blessed  symbol  we  have  come 
here  this  day  to  glorify;  ashamed  of  nothing  that  God 
has  sent,  ready  for  everything  that  God  may  send !  It 
was  not  a  singer  of  the  fireside,  but  a  hearthless  wan 
derer,  who  put  in  all  hearts  the  Anglo-Saxon's  simple 
"Home,  Sweet  Home."  It  was  a  poet,  not  a  warrior, 
who  gave  to  our  Union  the  Anglo-American's  homage 
to  his  flag.  Even  as  the  Prince  of  Peace  who  came  to 
bring  eternal  life  was  the  Son  of  God,  were  these  His 
ministering  angels;  and,  as  each  of  us,  upon  his  knees, 
sends  up  a  prayer  to  Heaven  for  "Home,  Sweet  Home," 
may  he  also  murmur,  and  teach  his  children  to  lisp,  the 
sublime  refrain  of  Key's  immortal  anthem — 

"And  the  star-spangled  banner,  oh,  long  may  it  wave 
O'er  the  land  of  the  free  and  the  home  of  the  brave!" 


343 


"GOD'S  PROMISE  REDEEMED"* 

The  duty  which  draws  us  together,  and  the  day — al 
though  appointed  by  law — come  to  us  laden  by  a  deeper 
meaning  than  they  have  ever  borne  before ;  and  the  place 
which  witnesses  our  coming  invests  the  occasion  with 
increased  solemnity  and  significance.  Within  the  pre 
cincts  of  this  dread  but  beautiful  city — consecrate  in  all 
our  hearts  and  homes — for  here  lie  our  loved  ones — two 
plots  of  ground,  with  but  a  hillock  between,  have  been 
set  aside  to  mark  the  resting-place  of  the  dead  of  two 
armies  that  in  life  were  called  hostile,  the  Army  of  the 
Union,  the  Army  of  the  Confederacy.  We  come  to 
decorate  the  graves  of  those  who  died  fighting  for  the 
Union.  Presently  others  shall  come  to  decorate  the 
graves  of  those  who  died  fighting  for  the  Confederacy. 
Yet,  if  these  flower-covered  mounds  could  open  and  the 
brave  men  who  inhabit  them  could  rise,  not  as  disem 
bodied  spirits,  but  in  the  sentient  flesh  and  blood  which 
they  wore  when  they  went  hence,  they  would  rejoice  as 
we  do  that  the  hopes  of  both  have  been  at  last  fulfilled, 
and  that  the  Confederacy,  swallowed  up  by  the  Union, 

*  Address  delivered  in  the  Union  Division  of  Cave  Hill  Cemetery, 
Louisville,  Decoration  Day,  May  30,  1899. 

344 


God's  Promise  Redeemed 

lives  again  in  American  manhood  and  brotherhood,  such 
as  were  contemplated  by  the  makers  of  the  Republic. 

To  those  of  us  who  were  the  comrades  and  contem 
poraries  of  the  dead  that  are  buried  here,  who  survived 
the  ordeal  of  battle,  and  who  live  to  bless  the  day,  there 
is  nothing  either  strange  or  unnatural  in  this,  because 
we  have  seen  it  coming  for  a  long  time ;  we  have  seen  it 
coming  in  the  kinship  of  ties  even  as  close  as  those  of  a 
common  country ;  in  the  robust  intercourse  of  the  forum 
and  the  market-place ;  in  the  sacred  interchanges  of  the 
domestic  affections;  but,  above  all,  in  the  prattle  of 
children  who  cannot  distinguish  between  the  grand 
father  who  wore  the  blue  and  the  grandfather  who  wore 
the  gray. 

It  is  required  of  no  man — whichever  flag  he  served 
under — that  he  make  any  renunciation  shameful  to  him 
self,  and  therefore  dishonoring  to  these  grandchildren, 
and  each  may  safely  leave  to  history  the  casting  of  the 
balance  between  antagonistic  schools  of  thought  and  op 
posing  camps  in  action,  where  the  essentials  of  fidelity 
and  courage  were  so  amply  met.  Nor  is  it  the  part  of 
wisdom  to  regret  a  tale  that  is  told.  The  issues  that 
evoked  the  strife  of  sections  are  dead  issues.  The  con 
flict,  which  was  thought  to  be  irreconcilable  and  was 
certainly  inevitable,  ended  more  than  thirty  years  ago. 
It  was  fought  to  its  bloody  conclusion  by  fearless  and 
honest  men.  To  some  the  result  was  logical — to  others 
it  was  disappointing — to  all  it  was  final.  As  no  man 
345 


The  Compromises  of  Life 

disputes  it,  let  no  man  deplore  it.  Let  us  the  rather  be 
lieve  that  it  was  needful  to  make  us  a  nation.  Let  us 
rather  look  upon  it  as  into  a  mirror,  seeing  not  the  deso 
lation  of  the  past,  but  the  radiance  of  the  future;  and 
in  the  heroes  of  the  New  North  and  the  New  South 
who  contested  in  generous  rivalry  up  the  fire-swept 
steep  of  El  Caney,  and  side  by  side  re-emblazoned  the 
national  character  in  the  waters  about  Corregidor  Isl 
and  and  under  the  walls  of  Cavite,  let  us  behold  host 
ages  for  the  old  North  and  the  old  South  blent  together 
in  a  Union  that  knows  neither  point  of  the  compass  and 
has  flung  its  geography  into  the  sea. 

Great  as  were  the  issues  we  have  put  behind  us  for 
ever,  yet  greater  issues  still  rise  dimly  upon  the  view. 

Who  shall  fathom  them  ?  Who  shall  forecast  them  ? 
I  seek  not  to  lift  the  veil  on  what  may  lie  beyond.  It 
is  enough  for  me  to  know  that  I  have  a  country  and  that 
my  country  leads  the  world.  I  have  lived  to  look  upon 
its  dismembered  fragments  whole  again;  to  see  it,  like 
the  fabled  bird  of  wondrous  plumage  upon  the  Arabian 
desert,  slowly  shape  itself  above  the  flames  and  ashes  of 
a  conflagration  that  threatened  to  devour  it;  I  have 
watched  it  gradually  unfold  its  magnificent  proportions 
through  alternating  tracks  of  light  and  shade;  I  have 
stood  in  awe-struck  wonder  and  fear  lest  the  glorious 
fabric  should  fade  into  darkness  and  prove  but  the  in 
substantial  pageant  of  a  vision;  when,  lo,  out  of  the 
misty  depths  of  the  far-away  Pacific  came  the  booming 
346 


God's  Promise  Redeemed 

of  Dewey's  guns,  quickly  followed  by  the  answering 
voice  of  the  guns  of  Sampson  and  Shafter  and  Schley, 
and  I  said :  "It  is  not  a  dream.  It  is  God's  promise  re 
deemed.  With  the  night  of  sectional  confusion  that  is 
gone,  civil  strife  has  passed  from  the  scene,  and,  in  the 
light  of  the  perfect  day  that  is  come,  the  nation  finds, 
as  the  first-fruit  of  its  new  birth  of  freedom,  another 
birth  of  greatness  and  power  and  renown." 

Fully  realizing  the  responsibilities  of  this,  and  the 
duties  that  belong  to  it,  I,  for  one,  accept  it,  and  all  that 
it  brings  with  it  and  implies,  thankful  that  I,  too,  am  an 
American.  Wheresoever  its  star  may  lead,  I  shall  fol 
low;  nothing  loath,  or  doubting;  though  it  guide  the 
nation's  footsteps  to  the  furthermost  ends  of  the  earth. 
Believing  that  in  the  creation  and  the  preservation  of 
the  American  Union  the  hand  of  the  Almighty  has  ap 
peared  from  first  to  last ;  that  His  will  begat  it,  and  that 
His  word  has  prevailed ;  that  in  the  War  of  the  Revolu 
tion  and  in  the  Civil  War  the  incidents  and  accidents 
of  battle  left  no  doubt  where  Providence  inclined  ;  if  the 
star  that  now  shines  over  us,  at  once  a  signet  of  God's 
plan  and  purpose  and  a  Heaven-sent  courier  of  civiliza 
tion  and  religion,  shall  fix  itself  above  the  steppes  of 
Asia  and  the  sands  of  Africa,  it  shall  but  confirm  me  in 
my  faith  that  "the  judgments  of  the  Lord  are  true  and 
righteous  altogether." 


347 


THE   MAN  IN  GRAY* 

There  are  two  things  which  we  alternate  in  stigma 
tizing  and  cultivating,  which  we  habitually  condemn  in 
our  speech  and  display  in  our  actions.  Briefly  stated, 
'  they  are  sectionalism  and  partyism.  Considering  the 
roles  they  have  played  in  our  affairs,  they  might  be  mis 
taken  for  attributes  of  the  genius  and  policy  of  a  free 
people  occupying  a  territory  of  'considerable  extent. 
They  cast  their  shadow  over  the  American  Revolution. 
They  obstructed  the  making  of  the  Constitution.  They 
plunged  the  North  and  the  South  into  a  long  and  bloody 
war.  Neither  are  they  limited  to  the  points  of  the 
compass,  nor  confined  to  political  organism ;  for  we 
feel  the  force  of  geographic  lines  in  the  subdivision  of 
States  and  cities,  and  we  encounter  party  spirit  even  in 
our  churches  and  charities.  They  seem  inherent  to 
our  nature,  inseparable  from  our  condition.  Instead  of 
seeking  to  uproot  them,  we  should  the  rather  strive  to 
moderate  their  excess  and  to  bring  them  within  the 
bounds  of  reason;  remembering  that  the  bed-rock  of 

*A  response  to  the  toast  "Our  Coming  Guest — the  Man  in  Gray," 
annual  banquet  of  the  First  Christian  Church  in  Louisville,  January  22, 
1901. 

348 


The  Man  in  Gray 

worldly  wisdom  lies  at  the  bottom  of  the  well  of  good- 
sense  and  good-feeling,  whence  the  best  men  and  women 
are  supplied  with  passion-quenching  draughts  for  the 
better  conduct  of  life.  Save  for  this,  we  should  be  little 
better  than  beasts  of  prey. 

There  was  a  time  when  the  neighbor  and  friend  who 
has  just  taken  his  seat,  and  who  has  spoken  so  eloquently 
of  a  flag  which  we  both  adore — there  was  a  time  when 
he  looked  askance  upon  a  gray  coat  as  I  upon  a  blue  one 
— and  it  may  be  that  there  are  matters  about  which  we 
agree  no  nearer  now  than  we  did  then ;  but  I  can  truly 
say  to  him,  and  to  you,  that  there  has  never  been  a  time, 
when,  the  combat  ended,  I  could  not  take  my  brother  by 
the  hand  ;  if  wounded,  to  lift  him  to  his  feet ;  if  victor — 
in  case  he  held  it  out  to  me — still  to  take  it,  thankful 
for  the  grace  that  offered  it. 

I  am  asked  to  say  something  about  "our  coming  guest 
— the  man  in  gray."  There  is  not  so  many  of  him  now 
as  there  was ;  but,  few  or  many,  he  shall  find  such  wel 
come,  when  he  gets  here,  as  the  waves  found  when 
navies  were  stranded.  He  is  not  as  young  as  he  was; 
and  therefore  we  shall  not  wait  for  him  to  discover  the 
latch-string  that  hangs  outside  the  door,  but  shall  set 
picket-lines  of  greeting  and  acclaim  even  from  the  re 
doubts  of  the  Reservoir  to  the  oven-pits  of  Fountain 
Ferry — so  that  none  may  escape — and,  if  need  be,  we 
may  send  forth  reconnoitring  parties  to  scour  the  woods 
and  to  bring  him  into  camp. 
349 


The  Compromises  of  Life 

I  stand  here  to-night,  with  a  blue  coat,  as  it  were, 
upon  my  back,  the  Stars  and  Stripes  in  my  hand,  and  in 
my  heart  the  most  abiding  love  of  the  Union  and  all 
that  it  embraces  and  implies,  to  vindicate  the  Confed 
eracy  ;  to  maintain  and  defend  the  reason  of  its  being ; 
and  to  show  that,  under  God  and  through  it,  the  Re 
public  has  reached  its  full  stature  as  a  nation,  and,  along 
with  it,  its  promised  new  birth  of  freedom. 

I  shall  begin  by  saying  that,  with  a  gray  coat  actually 
upon  my  back,  I  did  not  believe  either  in  the  gospel  of 
slavery  or  in  the  doctrine  of  secession.  In  common 
with  hundreds  of  thousands  of  Southern  men,  I  clung 
to  the  Union  until  the  last  hope  of  a  peaceful  solution 
of  the  issues  in  dispute  was  gone.  The  debate  over, 
war  at  hand,  I  went  with  my  own  people,  the  people 
from  whom  I  was  sprung  and  with  whom  I  had  been 
reared,  the  people  of  Tennessee.  Strong  as  had  been 
the  Union  sentiment,  sectional  sentiment  was  stronger 
still.  We  did  not  stop  to  inquire  whether,  as  to  the 
political  questions  involved,  we  were  either  consistent 
or  justified.  I  think,  after  nearly  forty  years  of  inter 
vening  reflection  and  observation,  and  some  additional 
research,  that,  if  we  had  wanted  justification,  we  might 
have  found  it  in  a  long  line  of  what  I  now  regard  as  a 
most  plausible,  if  not  a  very  attractive  argument  in 
favor  of  the  right  of  a  State  to  withdraw  at  its  own  will 
from  the  Union,  beginning  with  Josiah  Quincy,  and  his 
associates,  in  New  England,  and  ending  with  Jefferson 
350 


The  Man  in  Gray 

Davis,  and  his  associates,  in  the  Gulf  States  of  the 
South.  The  framers  of  the  Constitution  found  them 
selves  unable  clearly  to  determine  this  point.  So  they 
left  it  open.  After  fifty  years  of  contention — compli 
cated  by  the  irrepressible  question  of  slavery  carried  to 
the  ultimate  of  the  irreconcilable — the  well-intentioned 
omission  of  the  fathers  to  fix  the  exact  relation  of  the 
States  to  the  Federal  Government  precipitated  the  two 
sections  of  the  Union  into  war;  and  out  of  this  war — 
although  we  did  not  see  it  at  the  time — we  emerged 
more  homogeneous  as  a  people  and  better  equipped  as  a 
nation  than  we  had  ever  been  before. 

We  of  the  South  at  least  builded  wiser  than  we 
knew ;  and,  if  the  nation's  might  and  glory  to-day  be  not 
in  some  sort  a  vindication  of  the  Confederacy — without 
which  they  could  hardly  have  come  to  their  fruition — 
what  shall  we  say  about  the  providence  of  God?  In 
truth,  He  doeth  all  things  well.  Two  hundred  and 
fifty  years  ago  there  arrived  at  the  front  of  affairs  in 
England  one  Cromwell.  In  the  midst  of  monarchy  he 
made  a  republic.  It  had  no  progenitor.  It  left  no 
heirs-at-law.  It  was  succeeded,  as  it  had  been  preceded, 
by  a  line  of  monarchs.  But  from  the  commonwealth  of 
Cromwell  date  the  confirmation  and  the  consolidation 
of  the  principles  of  liberty  wrung  by  the  barons  from 
their  unwilling  King.  From  the  commonwealth  of 
Cromwell  date  the  grandeur  and  the  power  of  the  Eng 
lish  fabric,  the  enlightened  and  progressive  conservatism 
351 


The  Compromises  of  Life 

of  the  English  constitution,  the  sturdy  independence  of 
the  English  people.  Why  such  cost  of  blood  and  treas 
ure  for  an  interval  of  freedom  so  equivocal  and  brief 
puzzled  the  wisest  men ;  remained  for  ages  a  mystery ; 
though  it  is  plain  enough  now  and  was  long  ago  con 
ceded;  so  that  at  last — dire  rebel  though  he  was — the 
name  of  Cromwell,  held  in  execration  through  two  cen 
turies,  has  a  place  in  the  history  of  the  English-speaking 
race  along  with  the  names  of  William  the  Conqueror 
and  Richard  of  the  Lion  Heart. 

That  which  it  took  England  two  centuries  to  realize 
we  in  America  have  demonstrated  within  a  single  gen 
eration.  When  Worth  Bagley  gave  up  that  fair  young 
life  for  his  country  at  Cardenas,  and  Hobson,  taking 
death-orders  from  Sampson,  plunged  headlong  into  the 
mouth  of  hell  at  Santiago;  when,  peril  waiting  on  every 
footstep,  Victor  Blue  traversed  the  wilds  of  Puerto 
Rico,  and  Brumby,  intrepid  as  his  great  commander, 
stood  upon  the  bridge  with  Dewey  at  Manila,  then  and 
there  God  gave  the  world  a  reason  why  the  South  was 
not  wholly  blighted;  pouring  a  flood  of  light  upon 
the  genius  of  Lee  and  Jackson,  of  Johnston  and  of 
Beauregard,  and  upon  the  courage  and  endurance 
of  the  men  who  followed  them.  I  seek  to  penetrate 
no  further. 

To  me,  the  politics  of  the  Confederacy  reads  like  a 
myth  of  the  Middle  Ages.  Secession  is  gone.  Slavery 
is  gone.  That  which  remains  to  us  is  the  memory  of 
352 


The  Man  in  Gray 

its  self-sacrificing  heroism;  its  splendid  valor;  its  glori 
ous  examples  of  the  manhood  and  womanhood  of  our 
race ;  a  heritage  no  less  to  the  North  than  to  the  South ; 
the  common  property  of  all  the  people  of  the  American 
Union. 

He  will  come,  this  man  in  gray,  a  little  bent  by  years, 
it  may  be,  but  erect  in  the  consciousness  of  his  own  in 
tegrity.  He  will  come,  on  crutches  it  may  be,  but  ask 
ing  nothing  except  the  recognition  of  the  rectitude  of 
his  intentions  and  the  disinterestedness  of  his  service. 
The  drum-beat  to  arms — the  bugle-call  to  battle — are 
but  echoes  of  a  past  that  lies  behind  him ;  shared  equally 
with  him  by  those  who  fought  against  him ;  to  live  again 
in  their  children  and  their  children's  children  forever 
united  beneath  the  flag  of  their  country.  We  have  had 
the  supreme  felicity  of  entertaining  here  the  Grand 
Army  of  the  Republic.  We  shall  not  soon  forget  the 
outpouring  of  enthusiasm  upon  that  memorable  and  joy 
ous  occasion.  The  coming  of  the  man  in  gray  will  be 
no  less  memorable  and  no  less  joyous;  for  it  will  bring 
with  it  the  same  outpouring  of  popular  and  patriotic 
sentiment;  the  same  profuse  display  of  bunting,  the 
bonny  blue  flag  entwined  in  the  folds  of  the  red,  white, 
and  blue;  the  same  delightful  din  of  martial  and  na 
tional  music,  the  strains  of  "Dixie"  and  "Marching 
Through  Georgia,"  making  counterpoints  upon  the 
pealing  anthem  of  "The  Star-Spangled  Banner,"  and 
blazing  in  all  hearts  and  over  every  threshold  those 
353 


The  Compromises  of  Life 

stirring  words  dear  equally  to  Southern  and  to  North 
ern  men : 


"The  Union  of  lakes,  the  Union  of  lands, 
The  Union  of  States  none  can  sever; 
The  Union  of  hearts,  the  Union  of  hands, 
And  the  flag  of  our  Union  forever!" 

With  those  strains  ringing  in  my  ear,  I  am  ready  to 
go  to  my  account.  There  was  a  time  when  I  lay  awake 
and  paced  the  floor  in  a  kind  of  anguish ;  when,  amid 
sectional  rancor  and  party  rage,  it  seemed  that  judgment 
and  patriotism  had  fled  to  brutish  beasts  and  men  had 
lost  their  reason ;  when  personal  liberty  hung  in  the  bal 
ance,  and,  amid  the  storm-clouds  upon  the  Southern 
horizon  there  loomed  another  Poland,  there  lowered  an 
other  Ireland,  preparing  to  repeat  upon  the  soil  of  the 
New  World  the  mistakes  of  the  old,  and  actually  to  rob 
us  of  the  Heaven-sent  institutes  of  freedom.  The  hand 
of  the  South  was  in  the  lion's  mouth,  and  my  one  hope, 
my  only  politics,  was  to  placate  the  lion.  I  have  lived 
to  see  the  lion  lie  down  with  the  lamb,  and  I  ask  no 
more ;  I  would  go  no  further.  Younger  men  may  lose 
their  sleep  and  pace  the  floor ;  for  now,  as  ever,  eternal 
vigilance  is  the  price  of  good  government;  but  me,  I 
tweak  no  beak  among  them.  Secure  of  the  past,  I  have 
no  fear  of  the  future.  We  move  upon  the  ascending, 
not  the  descending,  scale  of  national  development.  The 
torch-bearer  of  religion,  the  sword-and-buckler  of  free- 
354 


The  Man  in  Gray 

dom,  we  are  the  avatar  of  the  civilization  of  the  modern 
world ;  and  we  go  to  all  lands,  while  the  stars  in  their 
courses  fight  for  us,  and  God  upon  His  everlasting 
throne  directs  the  battle  and  the  march ! 


355 


"HEROES   IN   HOMESPUN"* 

Travelling  from  out  the  twilight  of  the  past  into 
the  radiance  of  the  present,  and  tracing  as  we  go  the 
history  of  the  country  along  the  glorious  but  rugged 
route  of  battle-fields  by  the  glare  of  fagot-flame  and 
rifle-flash,  it  seems  ages  since  Tippecanoe;  since  Har 
rison  and  his  hunting-shirts  met  and  vanquished  the 
hordes  of  the  two  Tecumsehs;  yet  are  there  men  still 
living,  and  here  to-day,  who,  if  they  were  not  con 
temporary  with  the  event  and  its  valiants,  can  distinctly 
recall  the  spirit  of  those  times;  the  aspects,  the  very 
familiar  features,  of  those  valiants;  the  atmosphere, 
the  form,  and  body  of  an  epoch,  when,  from  Faneuil 
Hall  in  Boston,  from  Raleigh  Tavern  in  Virginia,  to 
Fort  Wayne  and  old  Vincennes  upon  the  confines  of 
this  borderland,  the  redskin  and  the  redcoat  alike 
stirred  to  its  depths  the  heart  of  the  young  Republic. 

There  were  giants  in  those  days ;  and  there  was  need 
that  there  should  be.  No  vestibuled  trains,  nor  pal 
ace  coaches  waited  to  fetch  them  hither;  no  noisy  pro 
cession,  with  banners  waving  and  brass  bands  playing, 
marched  forth  to  honor  their  arrival.  They  jour- 

*  Address  in  commemoration  of  Harrison  and  his  men,  Tippecanoe 
battle-field,  Sunday,  June  15,  1902. 

356 


Heroes  in  Homespun 

neyed  for  the  most  part  afoot.  They  picked  their  way 
through  trackless  canebrake  and  wooded  waste,  across 
swift-running,  bridgeless  streams,  their  flint-locks  their 
commissariat.  They  had  quitted  what  they  regarded 
as  the  overcrowded  centres  of  the  populous  East  to 
seek  the  lonely  but  roomier  wilds  of  the  far  West, 
keenly  alive  to  the  idea  of  bettering  their  condition, 
having  a  fine  sense  of  pure  air  and  arable  land — it  may 
be  for  town  sites ;  but  their  hearts  beat  true  to  the  prin 
ciples  of  civil  and  religious  liberty,  and  they  brought 
with  them  two  accoutrements  of  priceless  value;  the 
new-made  Constitution  of  their  country  and  the  well- 
worn  family  Bible;  for  they  were  God-fearing,  Chris 
tian  soldiers;  heroes  in  homespun  as  chivalric  and  un- 
doubting  as  mailed  Knights  of  the  Cross;  hating  with 
holy  hate  the  Indians  and  the  British;  revering  the 
memory  of  the  patriots  and  sages  who  had  made  the 
Declaration  of  Independence,  warm  with  the  blood  of 
the  Revolution,  the  echoes  of  Lexington  and  Bunker 
Hill,  of  King's  Mountain  and  Yorktown  still  ringing 
in  their  ears. 

I  dare  say  their  descendants  are  equally  capable  of 
sacrifices.  But  it  is  not  of  ourselves  that  we  are  here 
to  speak.  It  is  to  commemorate  the  slain  who  lie  here 
and  hereabout ;  to  keep  their  deeds  and  their  worth  for 
long  aye  green;  to  confess  the  debt  we  owe  them;  to 
garland  their  graves.  If,  in  paying  this  homage  from 
the  living  to  the  dead,  we  rekindle  within  us  the  spirit 
357 


The  Compromises  of  Life 

of  the  dead,  we  shall  with  each  annual  recurrence  of 
the  day  the  surer  approve  our  coming  and  grow  bet 
ter  as  we  come. 

Our  lot  has  been  cast  in  easier  times,  has  been  laid 
on  broader,  larger  lines.  We  live  in  an  age  of  mira 
cles.  We  gather  the  fruit  of  the  tree  which  these,  our 
forefathers,  planted.  From  the  ashes  of  their  camp- 
fires  rise  the  school-house  and  the  court-house.  The 
church  marks  the  spot  where  the  block-house  stood. 
The  war-whoop  of  the  savage  is  succeeded  by  the 
neigh  of  the  iron-horse,  the  gleam  of  the  tomahawk  by 
the  flare  of  the  electric  lamp.  Danger  of  the  kind 
that  was  their  daily,  hourly  companion  is  to  us  un 
known.  Privation  such  as  they  sustained  assails  not 
honest  toil,  however  humble.  Wealth  and  luxury 
wait  attendant  upon  thrift  and  skill.  Primogeniture 
no  longer  cheats  merit  of  its  due.  Entail  no  longer 
usurps  the  present  and  puts  its  mortgage  on  the  fut 
ure.  Opportunity  and  peace  and  order  and  law  are 
the  portion  of  the  poorest.  Struck  by  the  wizard  hand 
of  Progress,  the  sleeping  beauty,  Solitude,  has  awak 
ened  a  Metropolis;  touched  by  the  finger  of  modern 
invention,  the  prairie  and  the  forest,  as  by  enchant 
ment,  have  revealed  their  secrets  and  poured  their 
riches  into  the  lap  of  labor.  Upon  the  loose  cobble 
stones  of  what  was  but  a  huddle  of  small  provinces, 
each  claiming  for  itself  a  squalid  sovereignty  and  held 
together  by  a  rope  of  sand,  rises  proudly,  grandly,  se- 
358 


Heroes  in  Homespun 

curely  a  Nation  built  upon  the  firm  foundations  of 
an  indissoluble  compact  of  States,  cemented  forever  by 
the  blood  of  a  patriotic,  brave,  homogeneous  people. 
The  bucolic  Republic  of  Washington  and  Franklin, 
the  sylvan  idyl  of  Jefferson — the  Government  which 
equally  at  home  and  abroad  had  from  the  first  to  fight 
for  its  existence — is  a  world  power;  and  to  the  pres 
ent  generation  of  Americans  these  things  have  come 
without  any  effort  of  their  own ;  as  a  rich  inheritance, 
which  for  good,  or  for  evil,  they  are  but  beginning  to 
administer  and  enjoy.  I  pray  them  well  to  weigh  its 
responsibilities;  deeply  to  ponder  the  changes  wrought 
by  a  century  of  acquisition  and  development;  prayer 
fully  to  consider  the  exceptional  conditions  and  the 
peculiar  perils  of  the  present  as  these  distinguish  the 
present  from  the  past;  bearing  in  mind  the  truth  that 
now,  as  ever,  eternal  vigilance  is  the  price,  not  alone 
of  liberty,  but  of  all  the  better  ends  of  life. 

Ours  is  a  Government  resting  on  public  opinion. 
Each  man  is  his  own  master.  He  can  blame  nobody 
but  himself  if  he  goes  astray.  Has  not  the  telegraph 
annihilated  time  and  space?  Does  not  the  daily  news 
paper  bring  him  each  day  the  completed  history  of  yes 
terday?  Is  he  not  able  to  read,  to  mark,  and  inwardly 
to  digest  the  signs  of  the  times?  With  these  helps, 
why  should  he  not  be  able  to  reach  intelligent  and  just 
conclusions  ? 

It  is  largely,  that  all  men  do  not  think  alike.  The 
359 


The  Compromises  of  Life 

same  fact  will  receive  different  interpretations  from 
differing  minds.  There  are  conflicts  of  statement. 
Even  the  press  is  not  infallible.  We  group  ourselves 
in  parties;  and,  as  with  our  watches,  each  believes  his 
own.  Thus  the  ship  of  state  is  blown  hither  and  yon 
by  the  trade-winds  of  public  opinion.  Yet,  somehow, 
it  has  sailed  triumphant;  the  struggle  for  freedom;  the 
struggle  for  union ;  the  foreign  war ;  the  domestic  war ; 
the  disputed  succession,  these  it  has  survived;  until,  at 
last,  it  has  to  face  the  most  serious  peril  of  all  in  that 
excess  of  grandeur  and  power  which  crowns  a  century 
of  marvellous  achievement. 

We  have  become  a  nation  of  merchant  princes. 
Money  is  so  abundant  that  men  are  giving  it  away  in 
sums  of  startling  magnitude.  It  seems  so  easy  to  get 
that  men  are  on  system  putting  it  in  the  way  of  a  kind 
of  redistribution  back  to  the  sources  whence  it  origi 
nally  came.  Shall  we  see  the  day  when  it  will  no 
longer  corrupt?  If  familiarity  breeds  contempt,  we 
surely  shall.  The  earth's  surface  appears  to  be  but  an 
incrustation  over  one  vast  mine  of  gold  and  silver  and 
precious  stones.  Life  is  a  lottery,  with  more  prizes 
than  blanks.  But,  in  a  land  where  there  are  no  titles 
or  patents  of  nobility,  money  is  bound  to  serve  as  the 
standard  of  measurement;  and,  precisely  as  Constitu 
tional  Government,  political  and  religious  freedom, 
were  uppermost  in  the  minds  and  hearts  of  the  pio 
neers  who  sleep  here,  is  the  acquisition  of  wealth  up- 
360 


Heroes  in  Homespun 

permost  in  the  minds  and  hearts  of  their  sons  and 
grandsons.  In  other  words,  as  I  have  elsewhere  put 
it,  the  idiosyncrasy  of  the  nineteenth  century  was  Lib 
erty;  the  idiosyncrasy  of  the  twentieth  century  is 
Markets.  The  problem  before  us,  therefore,  involves 
the  adjustment  of  these  two;  the  reconciliation  of  cap 
ital  and  labor,  of  morality  and  dollars,  the  concurrent 
expansion  of  the  principles  of  the  Constitution  and  the 
requirements  of  commerce.  It  is  of  good  augury  that 
both  our  two  great  parties  claim  the  same  objective 
point;  and,  as  I  do  not  doubt  that  we  are  on  the  as 
cending,  not  the  descending  scale  of  national  develop 
ment,  with  centuries  of  greatness  and  glory  before  us, 
I  shall  continue,  as  is  my  duty,  to  discuss  my  own  par 
ticular  horn  of  the  dilemma,  sure  that  in  the  end  truth 
will  be  vindicated  and  the  flag  of  our  country  exalted. 
To  these  ends,  whatever  our  political  belongings 
and  affiliations,  let  each  of  us  here  to-day  resolve  faith 
fully  to  address  himself.  Party  spirit,  held  within  the 
bounds  of  reason,  restrained  by  good  sense  and  good 
feeling,  is  an  excellent  thing.  It  is  of  the  essence  of 
our  Republican  being.  I  can  truly  say  that  I  have 
never  loved  any  man  less  because  he  did  not  agree  with 
me;  and,  though  I  chide  him  for  his  perversity,  I  re 
spect  his  right.  The  bed-rock  of  civil  and  religious 
liberty  is  the  law;  the  bell-tower  of  freedom  is  toler 
ance.  The  mute  inhabitants  of  these  swelling  mounds, 
could  they  speak,  would  tell  us  that  it  were  little  worth 


The  Compromises  of  Life 

the  toil  and  travail  endured  by  them  when,  amid  these 
greenwood  shades,  they  sought  and  found  emancipa 
tion  from  ages  of  feudal  wrong,  if,  overflowing  with 
prosperity,  bustling  with  pride,  we  should  forget  the 
lesson  and  dissipate  the  heritage;  repeating,  under  the 
pretentious  nomenclature  of  Democracy,  the  dismal 
story  of  Greece  and  Rome.  It  can  never  be.  We  live 
in  the  twentieth,  not  in  the  first  of  the  centuries. 
Though  human  nature  be  ever  the  same,  the  tale  is 
told  by  human  environment,  by  mortal  conditions,  and 
we  shall  the  rather  go  forward  than  backward;  the 
Constitution  in  one  hand,  the  Bible  in  the  other  hand, 
the  flag  overhead,  carrying  to  all  lands  and  all  peoples 
the  message  alike  of  Civilization  and  Religion,  the  Ark 
and  the  Covenant  of  American  freedom  along  with 
the  word  of  God ! 

The  hunters  of  Kentucky,  the  pioneers  of  Indiana, 
united  as  brothers  in  the  bonds  of  liberty,  fought  the 
battle  of  Tippecanoe.  It  was  not  a  great  battle  as  bat 
tles  go,  but  it  proved  mighty  in  its  consequences:  the 
winning  and  the  peopling  of  the  West;  the  ultimate 
rescue  of  the  Union  from  dissolution;  the  blazing  of 
the  way  to  the  Pacific.  They  were  simple,  hardy  men. 
They  set  us  good  examples.  They  loved  their  country, 
and  were  loyal  to  its  institutions.  They  were  comrades 
in  hearts  and  comrades  in  arms.  Be  it  ours  to  bless 
and  preserve  their  memory  and  to  perpetuate  their 
brotherhood ! 

362 


THE   HAMPTON   ROADS   CONFERENCE* 

Jefferson  Davis,  than  whom  there  never  lived,  in 
this  or  in  any  land,  a  nobler  gentleman  and  a  knight- 
lier  soldier — Jefferson  Davis,  who,  whatever  may  be 
thought  of  his  opinions  and  actions,  said  always  what 
he  meant  and  meant  always  what  he  said — Jefferson 
Davis  declared  that  next  after  the  surrender  at  Ap- 
pomattox,  the  murder  of  Abraham  Lincoln  made  the 
darkest  day  in  the  calendar  for  the  South  and  the 
people  of  the  South.  Why?  Because  Mr.  Davis  had 
come  to  a  knowledge  of  the  magnanimity  of  Mr.  Lin 
coln's  heart  and  the  generosity  of  his  intentions. 

If  Lincoln  had  lived  there  would  have  been  no 
Era  of  Reconstruction,  with  its  repressive  agencies  and 
oppressive  legislation.  If  Lincoln  had  lived  there 
would  have  been  wanting  to  the  extremism  of  the  time 
the  bloody  cue  of  his  taking  off  to  mount  the  steeds 
and  spur  the  flanks  of  vengeance.  For  Lincoln  enter 
tained,  with  respect  to  the  rehabilitation  of  the  Union, 
the  single  wish  that  the  Southern  States — to  use  his 

*  A  response  to  the  toast  "  To  the  Memory  of  Abraham  Lincoln," 
annual  banquet  of  the  Confederate  Veteran  Camp  of  the  City  of  New 
York,  Waldorf-Astoria,  January  26,  1903. 

363 


The  Compromises  of  Life 

homely  phraseology — "should  come  back  home  and  be 
have  themselves,"  and,  if  he  had  lived,  he  would  have 
made  this  wish  effectual,  as  he  made  everything  effect 
ual  to  which  he  seriously  addressed  himself. 

His  was  the  genius  of  common  sense.  Of  perfect 
intellectual  aplomb,  he  sprang  from  a  Virginia  pedi 
gree  and  was  born  in  Kentucky.  He  knew  all  about 
the  South,  its  institutions,  its  traditions,  and  its  pe 
culiarities.  He  was  an  old-line  Whig  of  the  school 
of  Henry  Clay,  with  strong  emancipation  leaning, 
never  an  abolitionist.  "If  slavery  be  not  wrong,"  he 
said,  "nothing  is  wrong,"  but  he  also  said,  and  re 
iterated  it  time  and  again,  "I  have  no  prejudice  against 
the  Southern  people.  They  are  just  what  we  would 
be  in  their  situation.  If  slavery  did  not  now  exist 
among  them  they  would  not  introduce  it.  If  it  did 
now  exist  among  us,  we  would  not  instantly  give  it 
up." 

From  first  to  last  throughout  the  angry  debates 
preceding  the  war,  amid  all  the  passions  of  the  war 
itself,  not  one  vindictive,  prescriptive  word  fell  from 
his  tongue  or  pen,  while  during  its  progress  there 
was  scarcely  a  day  when  he  did  not  project  his  great 
personality  between  some  Southern  man  or  woman  and 
danger.  Yet  the  South  does  not  know,  except  as  a 
kind  of  hearsay,  that  this  big-brained,  big-souled  man 
was  a  friend,  a  friend  at  court,  when  friends  were  most 
in  need,  having  the  will  and  the  power  to  rescue  it 
364 


The  Hampton  Roads  Conference 

from  the  wolves  of  brutality  and  rapine  whom  the  his 
tory  of  all  wars  tells  us  the  lust  of  victory,  the  very 
smell  of  battle,  lures  from  their  hiding  to  prey  upon 
the  helpless,  the  dying,  and  the  dead.  But,  perusing 
the  after-story  of  those  dread  days,  Jefferson  Davis 
knew  this,  and  died  doing  full  justice  to  the  character 
of  Abraham  Lincoln. 

Considerable  discussion  has  been  heard  latterly 
touching  what  did  and  did  not  happen  upon  the  occa 
sion  of  a  famous  historic  episode  known  as  the  Hamp 
ton  Roads  Conference.  That  Mr.  Lincoln  met  and 
conferred  with  the  official  representatives  of  the  Con 
federate  Government,  led  by  the  Vice-President  of  the 
Confederate  States,  when  it  must  have  been  known  to 
him  that  the  Confederacy  was  nearing  the  end  of  its 
resources,  is  sufficient  proof  of  the  breadth  both  of  his 
humanity  and  his  patriotism.  Yet  he  went  to  Fortress 
Monroe  prepared  not  only  to  make  whatever  conces 
sions  toward  the  restoration  of  union  and  peace  he 
had  the  lawful  authority  to  make,  but  to  offer  some 
concessions  which  could  in  the  nature  of  the  case  go 
no  further  at  that  time  than  his  personal  assurance. 
His  constitutional  powers  were  limited.  But  he  was 
in  himself  the  embodiment  of  great  moral  power. 

The  story  that  he  offered  payment  for  the  slaves — 

so  often  affirmed  and  denied — is  in  either  case  but  a 

quibble   with   the  actual   facts.      He  could    not   have 

made    such    an   offer   except    tentatively,    lacking   the 

365 


The  Compromises  of  Life 

means  to  carry  it  out.  He  was  not  given  the  oppor 
tunity  to  make  it,  because  the  Confederate  commis 
sioners  were  under  instructions  to  treat  solely  on  the 
basis  of  the  recognition  of  the  independence  of  the  Con 
federacy.  The  conference  came  to  naught.  It  ended 
where  it  began.  But  there  is  ample  evidence  that  he 
went  to  Hampton  Roads  resolved  to  commit  himself 
to  that  proposition.  He  did,  according  to  the  official 
reports,  refer  to  it  in  specific  terms,  having  already 
formulated  a  plan  of  procedure.  This  plan  requires 
no  verification.  It  exists,  and  may  be  seen  in  his  own 
handwriting.  It  embraced  a  joint  resolution,  to  be 
submitted  by  the  President  to  the  two  Houses  of  Con 
gress,  appropriating  four  hundred  millions  of  dollars, 
to  be  distributed  among  the  Southern  States  on  the 
basis  of  the  slave  population  of  each  according  to  the 
census  of  1860,  and  a  proclamation,  to  be  issued  by 
himself  as  President,  when  this  joint  resolution  had 
been  passed  by  Congress. 

There  can  be  no  possible  controversy  among  honest 
students  of  history  on  this  point.  That  Mr.  Lincoln 
said  to  Mr.  Stephens,  "Let  me  write  Union  at  the  top 
of  this  page  and  you  may  write  below  it  whatever  else 
you  please,"  is  referable  to  Mr.  Stephens's  statement 
made  to  many  friends  and  attested  by  a  number  of  re 
liable  persons  still  living.  But  that  he  meditated  the 
most  liberal  terms,  including  payment  for  the  slaves, 
rests  neither  upon  conjecture  nor  averment,  but  on  in- 
366 


The  Hampton  Roads  Conference 

disputable  documentary  support.  It  may  be  argued 
that  he  could  not  have  secured  the  adoption  of  any  such 
plan ;  but  of  his  purpose,  and  its  genuineness,  there  can 
be  no  question,  and  there  ought  to  be  no  equivocation. 
Indeed,  payment  for  the  slaves  had  been  all  along 
in  his  mind.  He  believed  the  North  equally  guilty 
with  the  South  for  the  original  existence  of  slavery. 
He  clearly  understood  that  the  irrepressible  conflict 
was  a  conflict  of  systems,  not  a  merely  sectional  and 
partisan  quarrel.  He  was  a  just  man,  abhorring  pro 
scription;  an  old  Conscience  Whig,  indeed,  who  stood 
in  awe  of  the  Constitution  and  his  oath  of  office.  He 
wanted  to  leave  the  South  no  right  to  claim  that  the 
North,  finding  slave  labor  unremunerative,  had  sold 
its  negroes  to  the  South  and  then  turned  about  and  by 
force  of  arms  confiscated  what  it  had  unloaded  at  a 
profit.  He  fully  recognized  slavery  as  property.  The 
proclamation  of  emancipation  was  issued  as  a  war 
measure.  In  his  message  to  Congress  of  December, 
1862,  he  proposed  payment  for  the  slaves,  elaborating 
a  scheme  in  detail  and  urging  it  with  copious  and 
cogent  argument.  "The  people  of  the  South,"  said 
he,  addressing  a  war  Congress  at  that  moment  in  the 
throes  of  a  bloody  war  with  the  South,  "are  not  more 
responsible  for  the  original  introduction  of  this  prop 
erty  than  are  the  people  of  the  North,  and,  when  it  is 
remembered  how  unhesitatingly  we  all  use  cotton  and 
sugar  and  share  the  profits  of  dealing  in  them,  it  may 
367 


The  Compromises  of  Life 

not  be  quite  safe  to  say  that  the  South  has  been  more 
responsible  than  the  North  for  its  continuance." 

The  years  are  gliding  swiftly  by.  Only  a  little 
while,  and  there  shall  not  be  one  man  living  who  saw 
service  on  either  side  of  that  great  struggle  of  systems 
and  ideas.  Its  passions  long  ago  vanished  from  manly 
bosoms.  That  has  come  to  pass  within  a  single  gen 
eration  in  America  which  in  Europe  required  ages  to 
accomplish.  There  is  no  disputing  the  verdict  of 
events.  Let  us  relate  them  truly  and  interpret  them 
fairly.  If  we  would  have  the  North  do  justice  to  our 
heroes,  we  must  do  justice  to  its  heroes.  I  here  render 
unto  Caesar  the  things  that  are  Caesar's,  even  as  I 
would  render  unto  God  the  things  that  are  God's. 
As  living  men,  standing  erect  in  the  presence  of 
Heaven  and  the  world,  we  have  grown  gray  without 
being  ashamed ;  and  we  need  not  fear  that  history  will 
fail  to  vindicate  our  integrity.  When  those  are  gone 
that  fought  the  battle,  and  posterity  comes  to  strike 
the  final  balance-sheet,  it  will  be  shown  that  the 
makers  of  the  Constitution  left  the  relation  of  the 
States  to  the  Federal  Government  and  of  the  Federal 
Government  to  the  States  open  to  a  double  construc 
tion.  It  will  be  told  how  the  mistaken  notion  that 
slave  labor  was  requisite  to  the  profitable  cultivation 
of  sugar,  rice,  and  cotton  raised  a  paramount  property 
interest  in  the  southern  section  of  the  Union,  while  in 
the  northern  section,  responding  to  the  trend  of  modern 
368 


The  Hampton  Roads  Conference 

thought  and  the  outer  movements  of  mankind,  there 
arose  a  great  moral  sentiment  against  slavery.  The 
conflict  thus  established,  gradually  but  surely  section- 
alizing  party  lines,  was  as  inevitable  as  it  was  irre 
pressible.  It  was  fought  out  to  its  bitter  and  logical 
conclusion  at  Appomattox.  It  found  us  a  huddle  of 
petty  sovereignties,  held  together  by  a  rope  of  sand.  It 
made  and  it  left  us  a  nation.  Esto  perpetual 


369 


THE  IDEAL  IN  PUBLIC  LIFE* 

A  virile  old  friend  of  mine — he  was  not  a  Ken- 
tuckian — he  lived  in  Texas,  though  he  went  there 
from  Rhode  Island — used  to  declare,  with  sententious 
emphasis,  that  war  is  the  state  of  man.  "Sir,"  he  was 
wont  to  observe,  addressing  me  as  if  I  were  personally 
accountable,  "y°u  are  emasculating  the  human  species. 
You  are  changing  men  into  women  and  women  into 
men.  You  are  teaching  everybody  to  read,  nobody  to 
think,  and  do  you  know  where  you  will  end,  sir?  Ex 
termination,  sir— extermination !  On  the  north  side 
of  the  North  Pole  there  is  another  world  peopled  by 
giants;  ten  thousand  millions  at  the  very  least;  every 
giant  of  them  a  hundred  feet  high.  Now,  about  the 
time  you  have  reduced  your  universe  to  complete 
effeminacy,  some  fool  with  a  pickaxe  will  break 
through  the  thin  partition — the  mere  ice-curtain — sepa 
rating  these  giants  from  us,  and  then  they  will  sweep 
through  and  swoop  down  and  swallow  you,  sir,  and  the 
likes  of  you,  with  your  topsy-turvy  civilization,  your 
boasted  literature  and  science  and  art!" 

*  A  response  to  the  toast  "  The  Ideal  in  Public  Life,"  Emerson  Cente 
nary,  Waldorf-Astoria,  New  York,  May  15,  1903. 

370 


The  Ideal  in  Public  Life 

This  old  friend  of  mine  had  a  sure  recipe  for  suc 
cess  in  public  life.  "Whenever  you  get  up  to  make  a 
speech,"  said  he,  "begin  by  proclaiming  yourself  the 
purest,  the  most  disinterested  of  living  men,  and  end 
by  intimating  that  you  are  the  bravest,"  and  then,  with 
the  charming  inconsistency  of  the  dreamer,  he  would 
add,  "If  there  be  anything  on  this  earth  that  I  do  hy- 
bominate  it  is  hypocrisy!" 

Decidedly  he  was  not  a  disciple  of  Emerson.  Yet 
he,  too,  in  his  way,  was  an  idealist,  and  for  all  his 
oddity  a  man  of  intellectual  integrity,  a  trifle  exag 
gerated,  perhaps,  in  its  methods  and  illustrations,  but 
true  to  his  convictions  of  right  and  duty,  as  Emerson 
would  have  him  be.  For  was  it  not  Emerson  who  ex 
claimed:  "We  will  walk  on  our  own  feet;  we  will 
work  with  our  own  hands;  we  will  speak  our  own 
minds"? 

Taking  a  hint  from  the  whimsies  of  my  archaic 
philosopher,  Mr.  Chairman,  I  shall  begin  by  a  repudia 
tion  of  the  sentiment  you  have  just  read.  There  is  no 
such  thing  as  the  ideal  in  public  life,  construing  pub 
lic  life  to  refer  to  political  transactions.  The  ideal 
may  exist  in  art  and  letters,  and  sometimes  very  young 
men  imagine  that  it  exists  in  very  young  women.  But 
here  we  must  draw  the  line.  As  society  is  constituted 
the  ideal  has  no  place,  not  even  standing-room,  in  the 
arena  of  civics.  If  we  would  make  a  place  for  it,  we 
must  begin  by  realizing  this.  The  painter,  like  the 
371 


The  Compromises  of  Life 

lover,  is  a  law  unto  himself — with  his  little  picture — 
the  poet,  also  with  his  little  poem — his  atelier,  his  uni 
verse,  his  barn-yard,  his  field  of  battle — his  weapons 
the  utensils  of  his  craft — he,  himself,  his  own  Provi 
dence.  It  is  not  so  in  the  world  of  action,  where 
the  conditions  are  exactly  reversed — where  the  one 
player  contends  against  many  players,  seen  and  unseen 
— where  each  move  is  met  by  some  counter  move — 
where  the  finest  touches  are  often  unnoted  of  men,  or 
rudely  blotted  out  by  a  mysterious  hand  stretched  forth 
from  the  darkness.  "I  wish  I  could  be  as  sure  of 
anything,"  said  Melbourne,  "as  Tom  Macaulay  is 
of  everything."  Melbourne  was  a  man  of  affairs, 
Macaulay  a  man  of  books ;  and  so  throughout  the  cata 
logue  the  men  of  action  have  been  fatalists,  from  Caesar 
to  Napoleon  and  Bismarck,  nothing  certain  except  the 
invisible  player  behind  the  screen. 

Thus,  of  all  human  contrivances,  the  most  imperfect 
is  government.  In  spite  of  the  essays  of  Bentham  and 
Mill,  the  science  of  politics  has  yet  to  be  discovered. 
The  ideal  statesman  can  only  exist  in  an  ideal  state. 
The  politician,  like  the  poor,  we  have  always  with  us. 
As  long  as  men  delegate  to  other  men  the  function  of 
acting  for  them,  if  not  of  thinking  for  them,  we  shall 
continue  to  have  him.  He  is,  of  course,  a  variable 
quantity.  In  the  crowded  centres  of  population  his 
distinguishing  marks  are  short  hair  and  cunning;  upon 
the  confines,  sentiment  and  the  six-shooter!  In  New 
372 


The  Ideal  in   Public  Life 

York,  he  becomes  a  Boss;  in  Kentucky  and  Texas,  an 
orator.  Let  me  hope  that,  on  this  occasion  at  least, 
I  shall  not  be  suspected  of  being  a  politician.  But,  the 
statesman — the  ideal  statesman — in  the  mind's  eye, 
Horatio!  Bound  by  our  limitations  such  an  anomaly 
would  be  a  statesman  lacking  a  party,  a  statesman  who 
never  gets  any  votes,  a  statesman  perpetually  out  of  a 
job.  We  have  had  some  imitation  ideal  statesmen  who 
have  been  more  or  less  successful  in  palming  off  their 
pinchbeck  jewels  for  the  real;  but,  looking  backward 
over  the  history  of  the  country,  we  shall  find  the  great 
est  among  our  public  men — measuring  greatness  by 
eminent  service — to  have  been,  while  they  lived,  least 
considered  as  ideals;  for  they  were  men  of  flesh  and 
blood,  who,  amid  the  rush  of  duty  as  they  saw  it,  could 
not  stop  to  paint  pictures,  to  brood  over  details,  to  con 
sider  sensibilities,  to  put  forth  the  deft  hand,  where 
life  and  death  hung  upon  the  stroke  of  a  bludgeon  01- 
the  swinging  of  a  club. 

Washington  was  not  an  ideal  statesman,  nor  Ham 
ilton,  nor  Jefferson,  nor  Lincoln ;  though  each  of  them 
conceived  grandly  and  executed  nobly.  They  loved 
truth  for  truth's  sake.  Yet  no  one  of  them  ever  quite 
attained  his  own  conception  of  it.  Truth  indeed  is 
ideal.  But,  when  we  come  to  adapt  and  apply  it,  how 
many  faces  it  shows  us,  what  varying  aspects!  So  that 
he  is  fortunate  who  is  able  to  catch  and  hold  a  single 
fleeting  expression,  to  bridle  this  and  saddle  it,  and, 
373 


The  Compromises  of  Life 

as  we  say  in  Kentucky,  to  ride  it  a  turn  or  two  around 
the  paddock,  or,  still  better,  down  the  home-stretch  of 
things  accomplished.  The  real  statesman  must  often 
do  as  he  can,  not  as  he  would ;  the  ideal  statesman  ex 
isting  only  in  the  credulity  of  those  simple  idolaters 
who  are  captivated  by  appearances  or  deceived  by  pro 
fessions. 

The  ideal  in  public  life,  as  I  conceive  it,  relates 
rather  to  the  agglomeration  of  the  State  than  to  any 
individual  example ;  to  a  people  sufficiently  lifted  above 
the  strifes  and  passions  of  their  leaders  to  discriminate 
between  right  and  wrong;  to  a  body  of  voters  who  do 
not  trot  in  droves  to  the  polls  like  sheep  to  the  sham 
bles,  happy  in  the  bonfires  that  blind  their  eyes,  ex 
ultant  through  sheer  sound  and  fury,  signifying  at  least 
nothing  to  them  except  more  taxes,  heavier  burdens, 
and,  at  last,  confirmation  of  the  right  to  pay  the  piper 
and  settle  with  the  undertaker. 

The  nearest  approach  to  the  ideal  statesman  this 
country  has  evolved  lived  and  died  here  in  the  metrop 
olis.  If  ever  man  pursued  an  ideal  life  he  did.  From 
youth  to  age  he  dwelt  amid  his  fancies.  He  was  truly 
a  man  of  the  world  among  men  of  letters,  and  a  man 
of  letters  among  men  of  the  world.  A  philosopher 
pure  and  simple — a  lover  of  books,  of  pictures,  of  all 
things  beautiful  and  elevating — he  yet  attained  great 
riches,  and,  being  a  doctrinaire  and  having  a  passion 
for  affairs,  he  was  able  to  gratify  the  aspiration  to  emi- 
374 


The  Ideal  in  Public  Life 

nence  and  the  yearning  to  be  of  service  to  the  State 
which  had  filled  his  heart.  Without  any  of  the  arti 
fices  usual  to  the  practical  politician  he  gradually  rose 
to  be  a  power  in  his  party;  thence,  to  become  the 
leader  of  a  vast  following;  his  name  a  shibboleth  to 
millions  of  his  countrymen,  who  enthusiastically  sup 
ported  him,  and  who  believed  that  he  was  elected 
Chief  Magistrate  of  the  United  States.  He  was  in 
deed  an  idealist;  he  lost  the  White  House  because  he 
was  so;  though  represented  by  his  enemies  as  a  schem 
ing  spider  weaving  his  web  amid  the  coil  of  mystifica 
tion  in  which  he  hid  himself.  For  this  man  was  per 
sonally  known  to  few  in  the  city  where  he  had  made 
his  career;  a  great  lawyer  and  jurist,  who  rarely  ap 
peared  in  court;  a  great  popular  leader,  to  whom  the 
hustings  were  mainly  a  stranger;  a  thinker,  and  yet  a 
dreamer,  who  lived  his  own  life  a  little  apart,  as  a 
poet  might;  uncorrupting  and  incorruptible;  least  of 
all  his  political  companions  moved  by  the  loss  of  the 
Presidency  which  had  seemed  in  his  grasp.  And, 
finally,  he  died — though  a  master  of  legal  lore — to 
have  his  last  will  and  testament  successfully  assailed. 

I  hope  the  Society  of  American  Authors,  whose 
guests  we  are  this  night,  will  not  consider  me  invidious 
when  I  say  that  literature  and  politics  are  as  wide 
apart  as  the  poles.  From  Bolingbroke,  the  most  splen 
did  of  the  world's  failures,  to  Thackeray,  one  of  its 
greatest  masters  of  letters — who  happily  did  not  get 
375 


The   Compromises  of  Life 

the  chance  he  sought  in  public  life  to  fail — both  Eng 
lish  and  American  history  is  full  of  illustrations  to 
this  effect.  Except  in  the  comic  opera  of  French  poli 
tics,  the  poet,  the  artist,  invested  with  power,  seems  to 
lose  his  efficiency  in  the  ratio  of  his  genius;  the  liter 
ary  gift,  the  artistic  temperament,  instead  of  aiding, 
actually  antagonizing  the  aptitude  for  public  business. 
The  statesman  may  not  be  fastidious.  The  poet,  the 
artist,  must  be  always  so.  If  the  party  leader  preserve 
his  integrity — if  he  keep  himself  disinterested  and 
clean — if  his  public  influence  be  inspiring  to  his  coun 
trymen  and  his  private  influence  obstructive  of  cheats 
and  rogues  among  his  adherents — he  will  have  done 
well,  if  not  his  best.  Hence  it  is  that  I  say  that  the 
ideal  in  public  life  may  not  be  achieved  through  any 
one  or  a  dozen  individuals  posing  as  statesmen,  but 
through  the  moral  and  intellectual  emancipation  of  the 
whole  people. 

We  have  happily  left  behind  us  the  gibbet  and  the 
stake.  No  further  need  of  the  Voltaires,  the  Rous- 
seaus,  and  the  Diderots  to  declaim  against  kingcraft 
and  priestcraft.  We  have  done  something  more  than 
mark  time.  We  report  progress.  Yet,  despite  the 
miracles  of  modern  invention,  how  far  in  the  arts  of 
government  has  the  world  travelled  from  darkness  to 
light  since  the  old  tribal  days,  and  what  has  it  learned, 
except  to  enlarge  the  area,  to  augment  the  agencies,  to 
multiply  and  complicate  the  forms  and  processes  of 
376 


The  Ideal  in  Public  Life 

corruption?  By  corruption,  I  mean  the  dishonest  ad- 
vantage  of  the  few  over  the  many.  The  dreams  of 
yesterday  we  are  told  become  the  realities  of  to-mor 
row.  It  may  be  so  in  science  and  in  art.  But  the 
dreams  of  Emerson  related  less  to  science  and  art  and 
letters  than  to  the  development  of  individual  charac 
ter,  book-culture,  picture-culture,  music-culture,  mere 
ly  the  lamps  that  light  the  onward  march  of  that 
development,  so  many  mile-posts  along  the  highway 
indicating  that  war  is  not  the  state  of  man. 

In  these  despites,  I  am  an  optimist.  Much  truly 
there  needs  to  be  learned,  much  to  be  unlearned.  Ad 
vanced  as  we  think  ourselves,  we  are  yet  a  long  way 
from  the  most  rudimentary  perception  of  the  civiliza 
tion  we  are  so  fond  of  parading.  The  Eternal  Veri 
ties?  Where  shall  we  seek  them?  Little  in  religious 
affairs,  less  still  in  commercial  affairs,  hardly  any  at  all 
in  political  affairs,  that  being  right  which  represents 
each  church's  idea,  each  party's  idea,  each  man's  idea 
of  the  prevailing  interest,  or  predilection.  Still,  I  re 
peat,  we  progress.  The  pulpit  begins  to  turn  away 
from  the  sinister  visage  of  theology  and  to  teach  the 
simple  lessons  of  Christ  and  Him  crucified.  The 
press,  which  used  to  be  omniscient,  is  now  only  indis 
criminate;  a  clear  gain;  emitting,  by  force  of  pub 
licity,  if  not  of  shine,  a  kind  of  light,  through  whose 
diverse  rays  and  foggy  lustre  we  may  now  and  then 
get  a  glimpse  of  truth ;  though  rarely  the  primal  truth 
377 


The  Compromises  of  Life 

embodied  by  that  blessed  legend,  "Do  thou  unto  others 
as  thou  wouldst  that  they  should  do  unto  you," 
wherein  lie  the  whole  secret  and  mystery  of  human 
happiness.  Brook  Farm  was  a  failure  because  it  was 
long  ages  before  its  time;  yet  it  set  a  candle  upon  the 
altars  of  humanity  and  left  a  not  unmeaning  tradition 
behind  it.  That  lovely  idyl  lives  to-day  in  the  hearts 
of  the  men  who  are  returning  to  the  world  some  of 
the  millions  their  genius  for  accumulation  drew  from 
it  in  such  sums  and  for  such  purposes  as  will  presently 
establish  it  as  a  fact,  and  not  an  empty  saying,  that 
there  is  more  pleasure  in  giving  than  in  receiving.  One 
at  least  of  these  men  has  rendered  us  a  modern  and 
truer  reading  of  the  spirit  of  the  Sermon  on  the  Mount 
in  the  declaration  that  he  would  be  ashamed  to  take 
his  millions  with  him  into  the  throne-room  of  Grace; 
and  let  us  believe  that  in  laying  down  this  principle 
and  acting  upon  it,  Carnegie  is  but  the  first  of  a  line 
of  kings  whose  dynasty  is  safer  than  that  of  Hapsburg, 
or  of  Hohenzollern,  whose  right  divine  is  registered 
where  alone  divine  rights  belong;  of  a  line  of  kings 
who  shall  ordain  a  new  polity,  establish  a  new  gos* 
pel,  from  whose  bell-towers  it  shall  be  proclaimed  that 
there  is  actually  a  God  above  riches  and  might,  who 
will  demand,  and  in  this  world,  too,  a  strict  account 
ing.  Let  cynics  deride  them,  let  casuists  find  other 
than  noble  motives  for  their  benefactions,  I,  at  least, 
will  look  no  gift  horse  in  the  mouth;  the  rather  see 
378 


The  Ideal  in  Public  Life 

in  them  the  dawn  of  a  day  when  money  shall  be  so 
cheap  and  plenty — even  as  it  used  to  be  in  the  Con 
federacy — that  it  shall  be  said  of  him  who  hath  it,  the 
more  he  hath,  the  poorer  he  is! 

The  ideal  then  in  public  life  is  first  of  all  and  over 
all  a  public  opinion  compelling  the  same  moral  obli 
gation  in  public  as  in  private  affairs;  of  a  public  opin 
ion  able  to  distinguish  between  the  spurious  and  the 
real;  in  short,  of  a  trained  intelligence  sufficiently  dif 
fused  among  the  people  to  protect  them  at  least  against 
the  grosser  forms  of  deception.  Barnum  discovered 
not  alone  the  virtues  of  humbug  but  the  willing  sub 
jection  of  its  victims.  There  will  be,  I  suppose,  al 
ways  persons  who  entertain  a  natural  prejudice  in 
favor  of  quack  nostrums.  Cagliostro  has  ever  been 
one  of  the  most  interesting  among  the  figures  of  an 
age  crowded  with  prodigies.  We  pique  ourselves  upon 
our  mother  wit — Yankee  wit  we  call  it — but  from 
how  many  shams  has  it  rescued  us?  We  alternately 
blame  and  praise  the  newspapers;  they  are  precisely 
what  we  make  them.  They  will  either  grow  wiser  and 
better  as  leaders,  or,  ceasing  to  lead,  will  become  mere 
vehicles  of  intercommunication;  the  editor  only  a  few 
hours  in  advance  of  his  readers  in  the  knowledge  of 
current  events.  Meanwhile,  let  us  not  misinterpret, 
but  carry  in  mind  and  heart  these  pregnant  words  of 
Emerson:  "We  live  in  a  very  low  state  of  the  world 
and  pay  unwilling  tribute  to  governments  founded  on 
379 


The  Compromises  of  Life 

force  .  .  .  but  society  is  fluid  .  .  .  com 
merce,  education,  religion  may  be  voted  in  or  out 
.  .  .  the  law  is  only  a  memorandum.  .  .  . 
The  statute  stands  there  to  say,  yesterday  we  agreed 
so  and  so  ...  the  history  of  the  State  sketches 
in  coarse  outline  the  progress  of  thought,  and  follows 
at  a  distance  the  delicacy  of  culture  and  aspiration 
.  .  .  in  the  end,  all  shall  be  well." 

Recurring  to  the  text  with  which  I  began,  let  me 
say  in  conclusion  that  I  prefer  to  believe  that  there  are 
a  little  more  than  curiosity  and  superfluous  energy  be 
hind  the  effort  to  reach  the  North  Pole,  and  on  the 
other  side  of  it  something  less  strenuous,  as  our  good 
President  would  say,  than  a  race  of  warlike  giants 
committed  to  a  final  world  conquest.  Perhaps  we  shall 
find  there,  held  through  long  ages  in  reserve — in  Para 
disaic  cold  storage — for  the  delectation  of  man,  a  crys 
talline  assortment  of  ideals — of  ideals  translated  and 
ready  to  be  at  once  appropriated  and  applied — fore 
most  among  them  being  the  ideal  statesman.  Till  then 
let  us  continue  to  aspire,  to  labor,  and  to  wait,  for 
not  till  then  may  we  attain  verification  of  the  conceit 
that  one  man  is  as  good  as  another,  as  indeed  he  ought 
to  be  when  they  can  read,  can  also  think,  and  when 
we,  the  survivals  of  the  fittest,  have  arrived  in  that  re 
created  universe,  where  there  shall  be  no  more  oratory 
and  posing  for  effect,  nor  kingcraft,  nor  priestcraft, 
nor  partycraft — not  even  after-dinner  speech-making — 
380 


The  Ideal  in  Public  Life 

but  where  every  voter  shall  be  his  own  file-leader  and 
each  particular  lie  shall  nail  itself  to  the  cross. 

"When  the  Church  is  social  worth, 
When  the  State-house  is  the  hearth, 
Then  the  perfect  State  is  come, 
The  Republican  at  home!" 


IV 
SPEECHES 


383 


THE   ELECTORAL  COMMISSION   BILL* 

Mr.  Speaker,  I  have  listened  with  attention  to  what 
ever  has  been  said  on  either  side  of  the  House  touching 
this  momentous  question.  I  have  done  so  not  merely 
on  account  of  the  distinguished  character  and  talents  of 
the  gentlemen  who  have  preceded  me,  but  because,  en 
tertaining  a  distinct  opinion  of  my  own,  I  have  been 
curious  to  discover  how  far  that  might  be  altered  or 
modified  by  the  reasoning  of  those  who  have  made  the 
consideration  of  problems  in  constitutional  law  the  busi 
ness  of  their  lives,  and  who  are  therefore  able  to  bring 
to  this  present  inquiry  the  copious  information  of  profes 
sional  training.  Being  a  layman,  and  having  no  larger 
knowledge  of  such  matters  than  should  be  possessed  by 
every  citizen  who  loves  his  country,  and  who,  valuing 
its  free  institutes,  has  sought  to  compass  the  spirit  and 
forms  under  which  they  exist,  I  shall  make  no  pretence 
of  adding  to  the  law  of  the  case.  I  would  not  trespass 
upon  the  time  and  courtesy  of  the  House  at  all  but  that, 
intertwisted  with  the  legal  points  submitted  to  us,  are  a 
multitude  of  practical,  every-day  suggestions  bearing 
upon  our  whole  political  economy  and  nearly  affecting 

*  House  of  Represcntativei,  XLIVth  Congress,  January  16,  1877. 
385 


The  Compromises  of  Life 

this  immediate  issue.  For  behind  this  conflict  of  juris 
dictions  are  arrayed  the  forces  of  half  a  century  of  sec 
tional  agitation.  The  conflict  itself  is  based  upon  the 
disputed  votes  of  one  Northern  and  three  Southern 
States.  These  latter  bring  before  us  the  results  of  a 
vast  scheme  of  reconstruction,  while  upon  the  final  issue 
another  reconstruction  may  depend.  Not  merely  the 
rights,  powers,  prerogatives,  and  duties  of  the  two 
Houses  are  involved  therefore,  but  the  existence  of  po 
litical  society  in  certain  parts  of  the  country,  and  a  just 
understanding  between  the  people  in  every  part  of  it,  all 
referable  more  or  less  to  the  action  of  the  proposed  com 
mission,  as  bound  up  in  the  administrative  policy  to  flow 
from  the  selection  of  the  one  or  other  contestant  for  the 
office  of  Chief  Magistrate. 

That  the  situation  is  something  more  than  critical; 
that,  with  reference  to  the  present,  it  may  involve  a 
perilous  exigency,  while  with  reference  to  the  future,  it 
does  involve  a  vital  principle  in  Republican  ethics,  will 
hardly  be  denied  by  any  thoughtful  person.  It  must 
also  be  admitted  to  be  an  extraordinary  circumstance 
that  an  organic  question  of  such  magnitude  as  that  em 
braced  by  a  series  of  disputed  matters  of  fact  and  law 
in  the  count  of  the  electoral  vote,  and  behind  that  of  the 
popular  vote  for  President  and  Vice-President,  should 
be  the  occasion  of  so  little  tumult.  In  the  dead  of  a 
winter  of  unusual  rigor,  thousands  of  people  begging  in 
the  streets  of  the  great  cities  for  bread,  thousands  of 
386 


The  Electoral   Commission  Bill 

people  everywhere  out  of  employment,  the  business  of 
the  country  prostrate,  what  do  we  see?  The  rich  hug 
their  millions  in  security,  while  the  people,  clasping 
their  free  fabric  to  their  bosoms,  conscious  alike  of  the 
danger  which  menaces  it  and  of  the  hardships  which 
press  upon  themselves,  pursue  the  even  tenor  of  their 
way  in  a  manner  conservative  enough  to  satisfy  the  most 
infatuated  believer  in  Napoleonic  ideas.  I  shall  take 
leave  in  the  remarks  which  I  have  to  offer  to  go  outside 
the  record  of  tittle-tattle  which  has  constituted  so  large 
a  portion  of  our  discussions — nay,  outside  the  record  of 
the  written  law,  which  is  not  always  a  certain  guide — 
and  ask  your  consideration  of  some  odds  and  ends,  partly 
of  belief  and  partly  of  observation,  picked  up  in  the 
course  of  considerable  migration  between  war  and  peace, 
between  the  North  and  the  South,  during  the  stress  of 
weather  encountered  by  our  peculiar  system  the  last 
two  decades.  Conceiving  that  these  may  not  fall  in 
precisely  with  the  conventional  routine  of  debate,  I 
venture  to  hope  that  they  may  give  on  this  floor  some 
partial  expression  of  that  love  of  country  and  kind 
which  warms  the  Anglo-Saxon  heart  in  the  United 
States  to  deeds  of  gentleness  rather  than  violence, 
clearly  indicating  that  we  are  the  most  homogeneous 
people  on  the  face  of  the  globe. 

Sir,  the  American  people  are  indeed  a  brave  and  lov 
ing  people.     The  two  sections  of  our  Union,  never  quite 
married,  originally  held  together  by  strong  ties  of  nat- 
387 


The  Compromises  of  Life 

ural  affection  only,  got  on  well  enough  until  the 
stronger,  as  is  wont  to  be  the  case,  pressed  for  a  closer 
relationship,  and  with  more  power  became  more  exact 
ing.  The  weaker  resisted,  incautiously,  of  course. 
She  resented,  passionately,  of  course.  The  open  rupture 
came,  whose  end  was  a  matter  of  course,  for  the  weaker 
always  goes  to  the  wall.  And  now  we  behold  in  our 
public  affairs,  what  we  often  see  in  private  life,  that,  be 
cause  submission  and  affection  have  not  proved  to  be 
convertible  terms,  despotic  power  would  smirch  the 
character,  as  well  as  blight  the  future,  of  the  victim. 
Mr.  Speaker,  as  we  say  to  our  little  ones,  "easy  is  much 
better  than  hard."  To-day  it  is  the  South  which  rep 
resents  the  woman  in  the  quarrel.  To-morrow  it  may 
be  the  East.  Why  is  it  that  where  the  woman  cannot 
be  debauched  she  must  be  destroyed  ? 

But  we  are  told  that  "nobody  wants  to  destroy  the 
South."  Certainly  not ;  because,  apart  from  considera 
tions  of  a  sentimental  sort,  the  prosperity  of  the  whole 
country  depends  upon  the  well-being  of  each  of  its  sec 
tions.  Baleful  as  I  think  the  Republican  policy  has 
been,  and  harshly  as  I  sometimes  feel  toward  the  authors 
of  that  policy,  I  shall  not  allow  myself  to  believe  the 
Republican  masses  so  deliberately  malignant  as  the  re 
sults  of  eleven  years  of  maladministration  would  make 
them  appear  could  they  have  foreseen  its  consequences. 
I  take  it  that  they  have  been  honestly  mistaken  as  to  the 
true  nature  of  the  case,  and  shall  try  to  show  before  I 
388 


The  Electoral  Commission  Bill 

sit  down  some  of  the  causes  which  have  misled  them. 
Whatever  its  origin,  all  of  us  should  desire  to  have  done 
with  criminations  and  recriminations,  bringing  profit 
only  to  such  as  trade  upon  the  ignorance  and  passions  of 
unthinking  men. 

It  used  to  be  urged  that  the  soldiers  of  the  two  con 
tending  armies  in  our  sectional  war  would  be  able  to 
make  a  speedy  and  lasting  peace  if  they  were  given  the 
opportunity.  The  same  may  be  said  of  the  whole  peo 
ple.  If  the  people  of  the  South  could  traverse  the  pleas 
ant  highways  and  byways  of  New  England,  if  they 
could  behold  the  admirable  public  and  domestic 
economy  that  prevails  there,  if  they  could  have  personal 
knowledge  of  the  still  more  admirable  hospitality  and 
geniality  which  warm  the  true  New  England  heart, 
they  would  recognize  in  the  mingled  obstinacy,  narrow 
ness,  and  good-will  of  the  New  Englander  much  of 
their  own  exuberant  spirit  of  provincial  dogmatism. 
On  the  other  hand,  I  maintain  it  to  be  true  that  wher 
ever  the  New  Englander  has  gone  South  with  a  fair 
purpose  he  has  encountered  an  honest  welcome  and  has 
found  a  race  of  men  and  women  kindred  to  his  own. 
There  is  no  sectional  line,  no  air-line  or  water-line  in 
this  country,  east  or  west  or  north  or  south,  which 
marks  off  separate  species.  There  are  local  peculiari 
ties  everywhere.  The  habits,  customs,  and  manners  of 
the  people  in  Maine  and  Mississippi  differ  certainly,  but 
not  more  than  those  of  the  people  in  Arkansas  and  South 
389 


The  Compromises  of  Life 

Carolina.  Take  two  communities  lying  alongside,  like 
Kentucky  and  Tennessee,  and  we  find  each  pursuing  its 
bent,  having  ways  of  its  own  not  shared  by  the  other. 
There  is  no  natural  antagonism  between  any  of  those 
States  But  it  is  easy  enough  to  raise  up  artificial  an 
tagonism.  "How  great  a  flame  a  little  fire  kindleth;" 
hate  begetting  hate  as  love  begets  love.  The  process  is 
as  old  as  the  world,  familiar  to  all  mankind.  In  this 
place  and  at  this  time  I  wish  to  deal  with  it  only  as  it 
concerns  ourselves. 

My  reading  of  American  history  may  not  be  profound, 
but  if  it  tells  me  one  thing  more  than  another  it  is  that 
the  American  people  are  a  homogeneous  people,  and 
that,  if  they  can  once  again  establish  themselves  upon  the 
home-rule  principle  of  the  Constitution,  which  leaves 
each  section  and  State  to  settle  its  domestic  affairs  in  its 
own  way,  we  shall  see  the  dawn  of  an  era  of  progress 
and  power  hitherto  undreamed  of  by  the  most  ardent. 
To  the  policy  of  interference,  the  spirit  of  intermeddling, 
we  can  trace  all  our  ills,  for  we  may  be  sure  that  so  long 
as  the  politicians  in  one  section  are  able  to  make  capital 
off  the  conditions  prevailing  in  another  section,  there 
will  be  misrepresentation,  the  party  holding  the  general 
government  holding  the  whip-hand  of  prejudice  and 
passion.  To-day  we  have  merely  a  reversal  of  the 
forces  which  filled  the  land  with  darkness  twenty  years 
ago.  The  lines  may  be  deeper,  the  portents  more  om 
inous;  but  the  spectacle  of  intolerance  is  just  the  same 
390 


The  Electoral  Commission   Bill 

No  fair-minded  man  can  say,  and  no  honest  historian 
will  record,  that  our  great  sectional  conflict  was  one 
sided  ;  all  the  right  here  and  all  the  wrong  there.  The 
North  found  out  very  early  in  the  race  that  slave  labor 
was  not  profitable.  So,  consulting  a  prudent  sagacity, 
it  sold  its  slaves,  never  failing  to  put  the  money  it  got 
for  them  in  its  pocket.  That  was  a  long  time  before 
the  morality  of  slavery  entered  into  party  politics.  Nay, 
for  a  quarter  of  a  century  thereafter  the  slavery  ques 
tion  was  remanded  to  the  custody  of  a  handful  of  en 
thusiasts  who  were  hardly  more  odious  in  the  one  sec 
tion  than  in  the  other.  At  length  the  politicians,  seeing 
in  it  the  materials  for  agitation,  seized  it,  and  for  an 
other  quarter  of  a  century,  and  on  both  sides,  much  per 
verted  it.  The  calm  reviewer  of  the  future,  be  his 
predilections  what  they  may,  will  peruse  those  old  de 
bates  with  mingled  curiosity  and  sorrow;  passionate 
declamation  everywhere,  each  party  for  itself,  the  un 
happy  cause  of  disturbance  being  slowly  but  surely 
ground  between  the  upper  and  nether  mill-stone.  Sir, 
that  is  the  spectacle  in  this  country  to-day,  particularly 
as  to  the  black  man.  During  all  these  years  he  has 
been  the  one  patient,  unoffending  sufferer.  When  he 
was  a  slave  his  lot  was  made  harder  by  the  war  which 
was  levied  in  his  behalf.  Now  that  he  is  a  freeman,  a 
new  contention  has  arisen  which  makes  it  harder  still. 
His  real  interest  has  been,  and  is,  the  very  last  thing 
considered.  And  yet,  seeing  that  his  existence  has 
391 


The  Compromises  of  Life 

proved  almost  as  tormenting  to  the  white  man  as  to 
himself,  one  would  be  led  to  ask  why  he  is  such  a 
favorite  with  partisans  of  every  description,  if  all  of  us 
did  not  know  that  it  was  at  the  first,  and  is  now,  and 
will  always  be  as  long  as  the  race  question  is  continued 
in  our  politics — to  use  the  homely  but  expressive  phrase 
of  Hosea  Biglow — 

Xo  git  some  on  'em  offis  an'  some  on  'em  votes 

The  black  man  is  a  freeman,  a  citizen,  and  a  voter. 
If  these  possessions  do  not  protect  him,  no  more  can 
troops  of  laws  or  troops  of  soldiers.  But  they  are  am 
ple  to  protect  him,  and  they  do  protect  him,  wherever 
they  are  left  to  their  natural  bent. 

Take,  for  illustration,  the  States  of  Maryland,  Ken 
tucky,  and  Missouri,  which  did  not  pass  through  the 
ordeal  of  reconstruction,  and  compare  the  condition  of 
the  negro  therein  with  his  condition  in  Louisiana  and 
South  Carolina.  I  can  speak  with  some  assurance  for 
Kentucky,  and  I  ought  to  be  held  to  be  a  competent 
witness,  for  I  have  given  proofs  of  being  a  steady  friend 
to  the  black  man.  At  the  close  of  the  war  it  was  my 
belief  that,  since  there  was  no  way  to  supply  ourselves 
with  another  labor  system,  our  interest,  as  well  as  our 
duty,  was  to  improve  such  as  we  had ;  to  make  the  best 
of  a  bad  bargain;  to  take  the  negro  in  his  rags,  igno 
rance,  and  squalor,  and  try  to  make  a  man  of  him ;  to 
392 


The  Electoral   Commission  Bill 

protect  him,  educate  him,  elevate  him.  A  movement  in 
this  direction  was  bound  to  meet  resistance  and  obstruc 
tion.  But,  step  by  step,  within  the  good  old  common 
wealth  of  Kentucky,  and  within  the  Democratic  party, 
which  controlled  Kentucky,  the  fight  was  made.  There 
•were  no  trumped-up  legislatures  imported  from  alien 
regions  for  hostile  purposes,  seeking  to  do  by  force  that 
which  was  to  be  best  done  by  simple,  popular  arts. 
There  were  no  bellicose  proclamations  from  bogus  Gov 
ernors,  saddled  upon  the  people  by  martial  appliance, 
intended  to  incite  violence  in  order  that  arbitrary  power 
might  secure  its  pretext  for  renewed  exaction.  The 
Federal  authority  happened  to  be  exercised  with  mod 
eration  through  officials  who,  whatever  opinions  they 
may  have  had,  were  responsible  men,  Kentuckians  to  the 
marrow-bone  and  manner  born.  There  were  conflicts 
of  jurisdiction,  undoubtedly,  and  wherever  these  ap 
peared  they  retarded  the  forward  march  of  events.  But 
they  were  not  serious  enough  to  stop  it.  Thus,  by 
easy  stages,  and  by  popular  consent,  the  negro  presently 
tound  himself  vested  with  such  legal  rights  as  the  States 
have  exclusive  power  to  give ;  he  was  established  in  the 
rights  which  the  general  Government  had  given  him; 
he  was  made  secure  in  his  home,  and  he  is  to-day  sur 
passed  by  no  laboring-man  in  any  part  of  the  world  in 
the  advantage  which  he  enjoys  for  getting  on  in  life. 
He  is  sought  by  all  parties — a  very  popular  person,  in 
deed,  with  candidates  for  office.  In  the  city  where  I 
393 


The  Compromises  of  Life 

live,  his  churches  and  schools  are  numerous,  well- 
ordered,  and  well-attended.  He  has  no  conflicts  with 
the  whites.  In  a  word,  he  is  a  freeman,  a  citizen,  and 
a  voter. 

That  is  the  solution,  as  it  is  the  history,  of  the  black 
problem  submitted  to  natural  laws.  If  the  negro  can 
not  be  protected  by  the  domestic  system  under  which  he 
lives,  far  less  is  he  likely  to  be  protected  by  misapplied 
and  misused  Federal  agencies.  The  enlightened  forces 
of  society,  however,  when  left  to  their  particular  ac 
countability,  will  always  assert  themselves.  They  have 
an  interest  at  stake  beyond  all  other  interests.  It  is 
when  society  has  been  overawed  and  silenced,  when  irre 
sponsible  men  have  been  put  above  it,  as  in  Louisiana 
and  South  Carolina,  that  we  see  physical  disturbance 
and  commercial  ruin. 

The  plea  that  there  is  an  exceptional  civilization  and 
humanity  in  the  South  ineradicably  opposed  to  the  negro 
is  false.  There  is  no  more  hostility  toward  the  negro 
in  the  South  than  in  the  North ;  if  I  spoke  my  full  mind, 
I  should  say  that  there  is  less.  Precisely  the  same  sys 
tem  of  civilization  and  humanity  exists  in  the  one  section 
that  exists  in  the  other.  Its  manifestations  differ 
merely  as  I  have  said.  The  vicious  elements  in  an  old- 
established  body-politic  are  less  violent  than  in  a  newly 
settled  community.  The  educated  rascal  in  New  Eng 
land  who  forges  paper  and  raises  checks  finds  his  coun 
terpart  in  the  Southern  swashbuckler  who  wears  a  ruf- 
394 


The  Electoral   Commission  Bill 

fled  shirt  and  is  handy  with  his  revolver.  Each,  taking 
his  cue  from  the  conditions  around  about  him,  engages 
in  that  department  of  crime  which  he  thinks  safest. 
Thus,  the  one  or  the  other  becomes  the  fashion  among 
rogues.  An  ancient,  thickly  populated  region  finds  it 
necessary  to  hold  life  by  its  surest  fastenings.  Its  laws 
against  murder  are,  therefore,  rigidly  enforced.  Bad 
men  turn  their  attention  to  less  dangerous  pursuits  and 
murder  is  left  to  ruffians,  who  are  too  ignorant  or  too 
hardened  to  have  the  fear  of  the  gallows  constantly  be 
fore  their  eyes.  Life  hangs  more  loosely  in  new  com 
munities  and  murder  is  at  once  cheaper  and  easier.  But 
crime  is  crime  the  world  over — acts  perpetrated  by  bad 
men — and  it  is  as  fair  to  judge  New  England  by  her 
Winslows  and  Pomeroys  as  to  judge  the  South  by  such 
examples  as  are  paraded  in  support  of  the  argument 
touching  her  peculiar  civilization.  No  society,  how 
ever,  should  be  judged  by  its  baser  elements;  for  they  do 
not  rule.  The  better  elements  of  society  govern  in  the 
South  as  in  the  North,  whenever  society  is  put  upon  its 
responsibility.  Suppose,  to  take  a  ready  example,  that 
after  Tweed  and  his  followers  had  got  possession  of  the 
city  of  New  York  they  had  been  supported  in  their 
predatory  work  by  the  Government  of  the  United 
States.  Suppose  the  great  body  of  the  people  of  New 
York  had  been  disfranchised.  Suppose  every  peaceful 
effort  at  relief  had  been  met  by  troops  sent  by  orders 
from  Washington  at  Tweed's  call.  Suppose  for  years 
395 


The  Compromises  of  Life 

the  majority  on  this  floor  had  extolled  the  Tweed  sys 
tem  and  the  Tweed  operators,  and  had  described  the 
mass  and  body  of  society  in  New  York  as  rebels  and 
traitors,  having  two  rights  only,  the  right  to  be  hanged 
and  the  right  to  be  damned,  what  would  the  result  have 
been?  I  ask  any  candid  man  whether  he  thinks  it 
would  differ  materially  from  the  existing  state  of  affairs 
in  Louisiana  and  South  Carolina,  even  as  that  is  de 
picted  by  the  unfriendliest  hand?  It  would  be  the 
same,  believe  me,  for  New  York  and  New  Orleans, 
Boston  and  Charleston,  are  made  up  of  the  same  race, 
moved  by  the  same  interests,  stirred  by  the  same  pas 
sions.  Those  who  seek  to  create  a  different  impression 
have  either  learned  nothing  by  their  experience  or  are 
consciously  and  purposely  malignant.  National  gather 
ings  are  constantly  illustrating  the  absurdity  of  such 
partisan  outgivings.  Church  assemblies,  trade  meet 
ings,  educational  and  scientific  and  political  conven 
tions,  made  up  of  delegates  from  all  the  States,  come 
together,  year  after  year,  and  there  is  no  sign  whatever 
of  a  diversified  humanity  and  civilization.  On  the  con 
trary,  there  is  fellowship,  thorough  and  complete.  But 
when  it  suits  a  body  of  partisans  to  do  a  job  of  work  of 
which  they  have  reason  to  be  ashamed,  then  we  hear  the 
sectional  tocsin  sounded,  appealing  to  passions  of  the 
baser  sort.  Sir,  the  American  people  have  listened  to 
that  unreasoning  clangor  for  five-and-twenty  years,  and 
they  are  tired  of  it.  They  want  a  rest  on  it.  The  men 
396 


The  Electoral  Commission  Bill 

of  my  generation  were  in  no  wise  responsible  for  our  sec 
tional  war.  They  can  be  fairly  said  to  have  no  politi 
cal  antecedents.  They  are  competent  to  utter  the 
things  they  will  about  that  war  as  well  as  about  passing 
events,  and  they  ought  to  do  so  freely  and  fully,  nay,  the 
better  sense  and  better  nature  of  the  country  wish  them 
to  do  so.  Such  controversies  as  we  have  should  be  set 
tled  in  our  day  and  by  ourselves.  They  should  not  be 
committed  to  our  children,  to  rankle  in  their  hearts, 
planting  all  over  the  land  the  seeds  of  future  disturb 
ance. 

Less  than  this  as  to  the  circumstances  which  have 
produced  the  present  complications  and  their  underly 
ing  cause  I  could  not  say.  It  may  not  be  true  that  we 
stand  upon  the  brink  of  civil  war;  but  it  is  true  that 
grave  dangers  stare  us  in  the  face,  threatening  every 
public  and  private  interest.  I  wish  to  inveigh  against 
no  party,  to  abuse  nobody,  but  that  a  well-organized 
conspiracy  exists  to  put  a  President  in  the  White  House 
who  in  my  judgment  was  not  elected  by  the  people,  I 
do  not  doubt.  Nor  is  this  the  worst  of  it,  for  it  has 
long  seemed  inevitable,  embodying  a  peril  which  the 
wisest  have  feared  might  be  inherent  to  our  system. 
The  Democratic  party  of  a  by-gone  era  was  strong 
enough  to  make  its  exit  from  power  the  signal  for  a  sec 
tional  war.  The  Republican  party  of  this  present  day, 
equally  strong  and  arrogant,  regards  itself  as  holding 
the  Government  in  fee-simple,  and,  using  the  sectional 
397 


The  Compromises  of  Life 

question  as  the  Democratic  party  formerly  used  the 
slavery  question,  it  is  able,  through  its  leaders,  to  pre 
cipitate  the  country  into  civil  war.  The  transfer  of 
power  by  peaceful  process  from  one  great  party  to  an 
other  is  an  unsolved  problem  in  the  practical  operation 
of  domestic  government.  Therefore,  I  have  looked  to 
the  present  crisis  for  years  with  misgiving,  conceiving 
that  sooner  or  later  it  would  surely  come.  Nor  have 
its  dramatis  persona,  its  implements  and  resources,  sur 
prised  me.  They  are  large  and  potent.  It  is  even 
claimed  that  they  are  sufficiently  equipped  to  be  more 
than  a  match  for  the  unorganized  masses  of  the  people. 
We  may  as  well  talk  plainly  of  things  as  they  are.  The 
Republican  party,  intrenched  in  its  position,  is  compact 
and  united.  If  it  is  magnificent  in  nothing  else,  it  is 
magnificent  in  its  organization  and  audacity.  The 
Democratic  party  is  as  one  who  has  his  right  arm  tied 
behind  him.  If  forced  into  civil  war,  it  would  proceed 
under  the  greatest  possible  disadvantage.  I  speak  thus 
not  merely  because  I  wish  to  be  clear  in  my  line  of  argu 
ment,  concealing  nothing,  but  because  there  are  evils  to 
be  more  dreaded  than  civil  war.  Rather  than  see  a 
cabal  of  party  managers  using  the  power  placed  in  their 
possession  as  a  supreme  party  to  seat  a  usurper  in  the 
Chief  Magistracy,  the  people  would,  after  having  ex 
hausted  peaceful  agencies  to  prevent  it,  be  justified  in  a 
resort  to  stronger  measures.  In  this  connection  I  may 
say  that,  dreading  the  arrival  of  this  exigency,  I  have 
398 


The  Electoral  Commission  Bill 

from  the  first  urged  upon  my  political  associates  proper 
agitation  as  to  the  danger,  so  that  the  public  opinion  of 
the  time  might  be  fully  advised,  and,  being  advised, 
might  organize  itself  to  avert  it.  The  fault  is  not  with 
me  that  this  was  neglected  until  the  bare  suggestion 
came  to  be  dismissed  with  alternate  derision  and  odium, 
by  some  as  a  piece  of  empty  bravado,  by  others  as  down 
right  sedition.  I  do  admit  that  the  time  has  gone  by 
when  the  people  at  large  could  act  effectively  for  them 
selves.  If  the  two  Houses  of  Congress  fail  to  agree, 
then  indeed  we  shall  have  come  upon  an  emergency. 
We  shall  see  the  Senate,  casting  the  blame  upon  the 
House,  proceed  to  the  counting  in  of  Hayes  and 
Wheeler;  we  shall  see  the  President  of  the  United 
States,  supported  by  the  army  and  navy,  prepare  to  seat 
them  in  office;  we  shall  see  the  Chief-Justice  ready  to 
administer  to  them  the  oaths  of  office.  The  House,  act 
ing  under  its  construction  of  its  rights,  privileges,  and 
duties,  proceeds  to  elect  a  President.  Then  follows 
either  civil  war  or  a  case  in  law,  but  no  matter  which, 
continuous  suspense,  commotion,  and  discontent.  Let 
us  assume,  what  I  believe,  that  there  will  be  no  war. 
Let  us  assume  that  the  Senate,  acting  for  itself,  declares 
Hayes  and  Wheeler  elected,  and  that  upon  this  the 
country  settles  down  into  sullen  acquiescence.  What 
have  we  then?  There  are  those  who  tell  us  that  four 
years  hence  we  shall  obtain  the  desired  change  of  parties 
in  the  Government,  brought  about  by  such  overwhelm- 
399 


The  Compromises  of  Life 

ing  majorities  as  will  leave  no  room  for  conspiracy  or 
doubt.  I  think  not  so.  On  the  contrary,  we  shall  have 
four  years  of  planning  and  disturbance,  with  another 
and  a  better  substantial  bloody-shirt  campaign  at  the 
end  of  them;  a  North  more  prejudiced  than  now;  a 
South  thoroughly  demoralized;  no  such  organization, 
no  such  issues,  no  such  opportunities  as  the  opposition 
had  in  the  last  campaign. 

Usurpation  goes  backward  as  little  as  revolution. 
The  inauguration  of  Hayes  by  a  process  such  as  the  ex 
treme  members  of  the  Republican  Senate  will  be  re 
duced  to,  if  the  two  Houses  fail  to  agree  upon  a  joint 
plan,  would  be  regarded  as  a  usurpation  by  considerably 
more  than  one-half  of  the  people.  In  the  South  it 
would  be  universally  held  as  a  step  forward  in  revolu 
tion.  By  its  authors  it  would  be  taken  as  evidence  of 
their  ability  to  go  ahead  without  fear  of  the  conse 
quences.  Another  reconstruction,  justified  by  the  con 
dition  of  affairs  in  Louisiana  and  South  Carolina,  will 
loom  into  view.  This  will  include  -Mississippi,  Florida, 
and  perhaps  Alabama;  and,  to  commend  itself  to  any 
approval,  it  must  be  "thorough,"  for  the  country  will 
submit  to  no  more  half  measures.  Thus,  already  ruined 
in  their  material  concerns,  the  Southern  people  will  be 
quite  bereft  of  hope.  They  will  have  no  political 
future,  and  we  shall  see  society  divided  into  three 
classes : 

First,  the  despairing,  who  will  say  "There  is  no  use 
400 


The  Electoral  Commission  Bill 

of  voting  any  more,  because  we  elected  a  President 
whom  the  country  would  not  inaugurate." 

Second,  the  time-servers,  who  will  make  terms  with 
the  Republicans,  and,  like  self-seekers  time  out  of  mind, 
will  become  useful  only  for  mischief. 

Third,  the  constitutional  opposition,  weakened  in 
every  way,  and  of  no  particular  value  to  its  fellow-class 
in  the  North. 

These,  Mr.  Speaker,  I  regard  as  the  almost  certain 
consequences  of  seating  a  President  in  office  by  a  process 
and  on  a  title  which  a  large  majority  of  the  people  can 
not  approve,  but  which  they  will  believe  to  be  fraud 
ulent.  The  ultimate  end  of  such  an  invasion  of  the 
spirit  of  our  Government  must  be  the  overthrow  of  the 
Government  itself,  civil  war,  and  all  the  evils  which 
such  experiences  entail.  We,  no  more  than  other  peo 
ple,  can  claim  or  expect  immunity  from  the  ills  which, 
from  the  beginning  of  time,  have  beset  the  nations  of  the 
earth.  To  prevent,  therefore,  a  catastrophe  so  dire,  no 
less  than  to  escape  the  perils  immediately  before  us, 
every  nerve  of  brain  and  heart  should  be  strained.  I 
take  issue  with  those  who  think  that  any  good  can  flow 
from  usurpation.  Whoever  succeeds  to  the  Chief 
Magistracy,  I  want  to  see  him  seated  in  office  on  an  un 
clouded  title.  This  brings  me  to  the  bill  under  con 
sideration. 

I  have  said,  sir,  that  I  shall  not  undertake  to  add  to 
the  law  of  the  case.  It  seems  to  me  that  an  eminent 
401 


The  Compromises  of  Life 

jurist  in  the  other  House,  the  distinguished  Senator 
from  Vermont,*  has  made  it  perfectly  clear  that  the  bill 
is  constitutional.  I  accept  and  adopt  his  view  without 
reservation.  It  not  only  settles  all  constitutional  doubts 
in  my  mind,  but  it  smooths  an  original  objection  which 
I  had  entertained  to  the  scheme  as  a  mere  compromise. 
Since  Congress  has  power  to  legislate  in  this  wise 
the  bill  is  not  a  compromise,  although  it  accomplishes 
that  for  which  compromise  is  usually  invoked.  That 
the  proposed  commission  is  established  in  accordance 
with  law,  and  that  it  is  to  be  equitably  organized,  have 
been  the  only  questions  on  which  I  have  allowed  my 
mind  to  rest;  because,  considering  the  present  state  of 
affairs,  not  as  I  would  have  it,  but  as  it  is,  I  believe  that, 
if  some  arrangement  be  not  reached  between  this  and 
the  middle  of  February,  we  shall  find  ourselves  drifting 
in  an  open  boat  upon  a  shoreless  sea,  compassless  and 
rudderless,  nobody  to  lead  us  whom  we  can  trust,  and 
no  concert  of  action  among  ourselves,  but,  in  room  of 
these  essentials  to  useful  endeavor,  a  desperate  partisan 
conspiracy  in  front  of  us,  armed  cap-a-pie  and  prepared 
for  emergencies.  The  sole  hope  of  that  conspiracy  is 
the  non-agreement  of  the  two  House0  of  Congress.  The 
sole  hope  left  the  people — a  choice  of  evils,  I  grant — is 
the  proposed  commission.  That  it  is  to  be  fairly  con 
stituted,  and  that  as  made  up  it  will  compose  a  tribunal 
which  men  can  respect,  I  believe,  and,  so  believing,  I  am 

*  Mr.  Edmunds. 
402 


The  Electoral  Commission  Bill 

willing  to  rest  the  case  with  it.  I  am  the  readier  to  do 
this  since  I  regard  Tilden's  case  as  a  good  one;  but  I 
shall  vote  for  the  bill  with  the  full  consciousness  that 
the  action  of  the  commission  may  bitterly  disappoint  me 
and  those  who  feel  and  think  with  me.  If  it  does,  I 
shall  still  have  discharged  a  most  unpleasing  duty  in 
that  manner  which  was  best  calculated  to  preserve  con 
stitutional  forms  and  keep  the  peace  of  the  country  at  a 
time  when  the  Republic  was  menaced  and  the  people 
were  not  prepared  for  war. 

Mr.  Speaker,  sixteen  years  ago  the  people  of  this 
country  were  brought  face  to  face  with  an  undetermined 
point  in  constitutional  law  touching  the  right  of  a  State 
to  secede  from  the  Union.  Thousands  of  intelligent 
and  honest  men  believed  that  right  to  exist.  There  was 
no  tribunal,  however,  to  which  they  could  refer  it. 
War,  the  result  of  which  no  one  could  foresee,  whose 
consequences  will  outlast  this  and  the  next  generation, 
ensued.  It  is  idle  at  this  late  day  to  speculate  upon 
what  might  have  been  if  the  States  had  possessed  some 
constitutional  means  of  arbitration.  But  it  is  quite  cer 
tain  that  had  they  known  what  we  know,  they  would 
have  gone  greater  lengths  to  keep  the  peace.  We  now 
confront  a  danger  just  as  real  and  just  as  great.  No 
less  than  the  rulership  of  the  country  is  involved.  The 
Houses  of  Congress  are  controlled  by  opposing  political 
bodies.  There  is  confusion  in  the  returns  of  the  elec 
toral  vote.  The  terms  of  the  Constitution  lack  explic- 
403 


The  Compromises  of  Life 

itness  and  furnish  the  minds  of  many  a  reasonable  doubt 
as  to  what,  speaking  precisely,  is  lawful  to  be  done. 
Setting  aside  the  passions  and  interests  of  partisans,  the 
non-partisan  classes,  embracing  at  least  one-half  the 
total  vote  polled  in  the  election,  share  this  doubt  to  such 
an  extent  that  they  have  held  aloof  thus  far  from  public 
demonstration.  They  are  at  length  making  their 
wishes  known  with  emphasis.  They  understand  the 
danger  and  see  in  the  proposed  commission  the  means  of 
averting  it.  For  my  part,  if  my  objections  were  even 
greater  than  they  are,  I  should  give  it  to  them.  Let  it 
place  whom  it  may  in  the  Presidential  office,  it  will, 
without  dishonor,  bring  us  that  repose  of  which,  of  all 
things,  the  country  stands  most  in  need.  In  other 
words,  it  is  this,  or  the  Senate,  or  civil  war.  I  may  not, 
and  I  do  not,  like  it  as  an  original  proposition.  I  may, 
and  I  do,  feel  a  sense  of  indignation  that  such  a  contin 
gency  has  been  forced  by  the  operations  of  what  I  be 
lieve  to  be  conspiracy.  But,  reduced  to  a  choice  of  evils, 
I  take  this  tribunal,  entertaining  no  doubt  that  it  will  be 
composed  of  competent  and  patriotic  men,  by  whose 
judgment  I  shall  abide,  something  more  than  party  be 
ing  at  stake.  The  happiness  and  peace  of  forty  millions 
of  people  will  press  upon  the  commission  raised  by  this 
act ;  its  members  will  cease  to  be  partisans ;  they  will  sit 
for  the  whole  country ;  and,  as  they  discharge  their  full 
duty,  they  will  be  honored  in  the  land.  It  seems  to  me 
that,  if  arbitration  is  our  only  recourse,  as  I  believe  it  is, 
404 


The  Electoral  Commission  Bill 

that  proposed  is  both  legal  and  just.  Upon  it,  there 
fore,  good  men  everywhere  will  rest  the  issue,  trusting 
that  the  God  from  whom  we  received  our  fair,  free  sys 
tem,  building  wiser  than  we  knew,  will  bring  it  safely 
through  this  present  danger. 


405 


ENGLAND    AND    AMERICA* 

A  distinguished  journalist  of  London,  holding  a 
seat  in  the  Imperial  Parliament,  was  quoted  last  win 
ter  as  saying  that,  before  the  United  States  venture 
upon  a  war  with  England,  or  any  foreign  power,  the 
southern  section  of  the  Union  would  have  to  be  reck 
oned  with.  How  little  he  knew  about  the  situation 
of  affairs,  and  the  state  of  public  sentiment,  in  Amer 
ica.  If,  upon  this  Memorial  Day,  officially  dedicated 
to  the  fallen  heroes  of  one  army,  the  fallen  heroes  of 
both  armies  who  fought  in  that  stubborn  contention 
could  be  mustered  on  earth,  and  could  witness  the  com 
plete  obliteration  of  every  sign,  token,  and  issue  of 
domestic  strife,  and  realize,  as  the  living  do,  the  full 
meaning  of  the  conclusive  result  reached  thirty-one 
years  ago,  it  may  be  doubted  whether  the  exultation  of 
the  one  side  would,  in  sincerity  and  universality,  ex 
ceed  the  satisfaction  of  the  other  side.  I  say  "satisfac 
tion"  advisedly,  for,  since  no  man  can  be  expected  to 
exult  in  his  own  undoing,  a  stronger  expression  might 
not  precisely  fit  the  case.  But  I  do  declare  that,  among 
the  survivors  of  those  who  fought  so  well  from  Big 

*  A  speech  made  at  the  Consular  Banquet,  Hotel  Cecil,  London,  May 
30,  1896. 

406 


England  and  America 

Bethel  in  1861  to  Appomattox  in  1865,  and  their  de 
scendants,  there  is  now  but  one  feeling,  and  that  of 
thankfulness  to  God  that  He  laid  the  weight  of  His 
hand  upon  the  Southern  Confederacy  and  preserved 
the  life  of  the  American  Union. 

I  was  over  here  just  after  that  dreadful  struggle — 
a  very  ragged  rebel,  indeed — and  was  not  long  discov 
ering  that  such  trivial  distinctions  as  Federal  and  Con 
federate  were  Greek  to  the  average  European  mind. 
All  of  us,  Southerners  and  Northerners  alike,  all  of  us 
were  Yankees.  I  took  the  hint,  and  with  it  the 
shortest  cut  I  could  back  to  the  protecting  folds  of 
the  flag  under  which  I  was  born,  and  I  found  there 
the  shelter  so  ample  and  restful,  so  comforting  and  so 
comfortable,  that  I  clung  to  it,  froze  to  it,  and  have 
ever  since  been  advising  the  boys,  old  and  young,  to 
follow  my  example. 

With  all  deference  to  my  very  old  and  dear  friend, 
the  Ambassador,*  and  to  the  sentiments  uttered  by  the 
eminent  Senator  from  Massachusetts,!  I  confess  that 
I  am  a  Jingo ;  but  you  will  be  assured  that  I  mean  no 
discourtesy  to  those  of  our  English  friends  who  have 
honored  us  by  their  presence  when  I  tell  you,  and  them, 
that  it  was  from  England  I  learned  the  lesson  and  got 
the  cue.  Let  me  hasten  to  add  that  there  is  no  pos 
session  which  England  has  that  America  wants.  The 
world  is  quite  big  enough  for  both  of  us.  But  nothing 

*  Mr.  Bayard.  t  Mr.  Hoar. 

407 


The  Compromises  of  Life 

is  gained  to  either  by  seeking  to  conceal  the  fact,  that 
behind  the  party  leaders  and  the  public  journals,  here 
to-day  and  gone  to-morrow,  there  are  millions  of  peo 
ple  who  may  not  with  safety  be  ignored,  and  vast  in 
terests  which  can  only  be  secured  by  a  policy  of  firm, 
enlightened  self-assertion,  equally  plain-spoken  on  both 
sides. 

The  greatness  and  glory  of  England  go  without 
saying.  It  should  require  no  self-seeking  flunkyism 
eager  for  social  recognition,  nor  any  resonant  lip-ser 
vice,  delighted  to  have  an  audience  and  rejoicing  in 
the  sound  of  its  own  voice,  to  impress  upon  intelligent 
Englishmen  the  truth  that  no  intelligent  American 
desires  any  other  than  the  most  constant,  the  most  cor 
dial  relations  of  friendship  with  England.  There  are 
indeed  shrines  here  where  we  worship;  founts  whence 
we  have  drawn  thirst-quenching  draughts  of  liberty 
and  poetry  and  law.  But  the  talk  about  common  in 
stitutions  and  a  common  language  is  cheap  talk,  and, 
in  some  respects,  misleading  talk.  The  common  lan 
guage  did  not  prevent  us  from  going  to  war  on  two 
occasions,  and  enables  us  on  every  occasion,  when  we 
happen  to  be  out  of  temper,  to  express  ourselves  the 
more  volubly  and  the  more  offensively.  The  common 
institutions,  where  they  do  not  expose  us  to  conflicting 
interests,  are  rather  imaginary  than  real.  We  are  of 
common  origin  and  blood,  undoubtedly,  and  that  means 
that  we  are  good  fighters,  who  may  be  counted  on, 
408 


England  and  America 

each  to  stand  by  his  own ;  and  consequently,  as  this  cir 
cumstance  has  come  to  be  tolerably  well  understood  on 
both  sides  of  the  Atlantic,  we  are  hearing  a  good  deal 
about  a  new  principle  of  international  ethics,  or  juris 
prudence,  or  what  you  will,  which  they  call  arbitration. 

Well,  I  am  for  "arbitration."  I  am  for  arbitration 
just  as  I  am  for  religion  and  morality  and  justice,  and 
all  other  good  things  that  sound  well  and  cost  little. 
But  who  ever  heard  of  religion  or  morality  or  justice 
interposing  to  prevent  the  church — your  church  or  my 
church — from  doing,  as  an  aggregation,  what  no  hon 
est  man  would  willingly  do  as  an  individual.  Nations, 
I  fear,  are  no  better  than  churches,  and,  while  arbitra 
tion  may  work  very  well  as  a  preventive,  it  will,  when 
the  disorder  has  struck  in  or  become  chronic,  prove  in 
effectual  as  a  cure.  Then  it  is  that  the  body  politic, 
the  body  corporate,  requires  blood-letting;  and  blood 
letting  it  will  surely  have. 

Not  until  man  ceases  to  litigate  will  he  cease  to  fight. 
When  courts  of  law  are  abolished  and  lawyers  are 
turned  into  darning-needles;  when  journalists  ex 
change  their  functions  as  preachers  sometimes  exchange 
their  pulpits;  when  rival  merchants  will  not  permit 
one  another  to  undersell  his  wares;  in  short,  when  the 
lion  and  the  lamb  have  concluded  to  pool  their  issues 
and  to  lie  down  to  pleasant  dreams,  we  shall  have  that 
peace  on  earth,  good-will  to  men,  including,  of  course, 
free  trade  and  sailors'  rights,  so  ardently  invoked  on 
409 


The  Compromises  of  Life 

this  side  of  the  ocean  by  Mr.  Cobden  and  Mr.  Bright, 
and,  on  our  side,  by  Mr.  Cleveland,  to  be  applauded 
and  denied,  when  opportunity  has  offered,  on  both 
sides.  War  is  certainly  a  dreadful  alternative.  He 
who  has  seen  it,  and  who  knows  what  it  actually  means, 
can  look  upon  it  only  with  horror.  But  there  are  yet 
greater  evils  to  mankind  than  war,  whose  elimination 
from  human  experience  makes  the  emasculation  of  the 
human  species  simply  a  question  of  time.  It  was  the 
heroic  spirit  of  the  Anglo-Saxon  race  which  placed 
England  where  England  is  to-day,  and  her  warriors 
are  no  more  to  be  forgotten  than  her  sages.  It  is  to 
this  same  martial  spirit  that  the  American  Union  owes 
all  that  it  is,  and  on  which  it  must  rely  to  maintain  all 
that  it  has.  It  is  certainly  true  that  these  two  great 
nations  occupy  a  position  strong  enough  to  control  the 
destinies  of  the  world ;  but  they  are  not  likely  to  agree 
upon  the  terms  until  Englishmen  find  as  much  to  thrill 
and  exalt  them  at  Mount  Vernon  as  Americans  find  to 
thrill  and  exalt  them  at  Stratford-on-Avon.  Till  then, 
thanking  God  that  I  am  an  Anglo-Saxon,  and  glorying 
in  the  achievements  of  my  race,  visible  everywhere  in 
this  wondrous  land,  I  must  rest  upon  the  answer  made 
by  John  Adams  to  George  the  Third,  when  the  King 
reminded  him  that,  having  been  born  an  English  sub 
ject,  he  ought  to  love  England :  "Sire,"  said  the  sturdy 
old  Republican,  "Sire,  I  love  no  country  except  my 
own." 

410 


England  and   America 

I  beg  that  you  will  forgive  me  if  I  overstep  the  lim 
itations  as  to  belligerency — in  my  case  purely  abstract 
— officially  fixed  upon  an  association  dedicated  to  the 
noble  arts  of  avarice  and  peace.  But  something  may 
be  allowed  to  certain  peculiarities  of  the  occasion.  Your 
guest  this  evening  is  a  General.  I,  myself,  being  a 
Kentuckian,  have  sometimes  been  called  Colonel. 

If,  inspired  by  the  heroic  dead,  to  whose  memory 
we  have  drunk,  I  take  leave  to  hoist  the  national  bunt 
ing  a  little  higher  than  the  Duke  of  York's  column, 
I  trail  it  also  in  pious  homage  toward  that  dome  yon 
der  where  lie  the  mortal  remains  of  Wellington  and 
Nelson.  I  certainly  do  not  mean  to  beard  the  lion  in 
his  den,  nor  to  twist  the  mane  or  the  tail  of  the  noble 
beast  when  I  remind  you  that  we,  too,  have  in  Grant 
and  Sherman  and  Lee,  in  Farragut  and  Stonewall 
Jackson,  Anglo-Saxon  soldiers  whom  Englishmen 
should  delight  to  honor.  Upon  the  basis  of  that  honor, 
mutual,  reciprocal,  spontaneous,  and  sincere,  may  Eng 
land  and  America  always  be,  what  they  of  right  are 
and  ought  to  be,  bone  of  one  bone  and  flesh  of  one 
flesh. 


411 


RECIPROCITY  AND   EXPANSION* 

In  the  event  that  I  am  ever  a  candidate  for  Presi 
dent  of  the  United  States,  which  Heaven  forbid,  I 
shall  need  the  electoral  vote  of  Massachusetts — or, 
rather  let  me  say,  that  I  never  expect  to  become  a  can 
didate  for  that  office  until  assured  in  advance  of  that 
vote — and,  this  being  agreed  upon,  you  will  not  think 
me  taking  unfair  advantage  of  your  hospitality,  or 
making  a  self-seeking  electioneering  use  of  it,  when  I 
say  that  I  love  Massachusetts.  I  love  Massachusetts 
because  Massachusetts  loves  liberty,  and  I  love  lib 
erty.  If  I  am  a  crank  about  anything  it  is  about  my 
right  at  all  times  and  under  all  circumstances  to  talk 
out  in  meeting.  There  is  but  one  human  being  in  this 
world  whom  I  bow  down  to  and  obey,  and  she  is  not 
here  this  evening — she  is  at  home — I  came  for  pleasure 
— and,  therefore,  I  am  going  to  proceed  just  as  though 
I  were  in  reality  Julius  Caesar! 

Boston,  I  believe,  is  in  Massachusetts,  and  the  Bos- 
tonese,  I  am  told,  possess  the  conceit  of  themselves.  It 
is  a  handy  thing  to  have  about  the  house,  and  in  your 

*  A  speech  made  at  the  Banquet  of  the  Merchants'  Association  of  Bos 
ton,  December  10,  1901. 

412 


Reciprocity  and  Expansion 

case  happens  to  be  founded  on  fact.  I  at  least  shall 
not  deny  your  claim  to  many  good  things  which  have 
come  to  pass  since  the  birth  of  Benjamin  Franklin  and 
on  down  to  the  completion  of  the  subway  and  the  new 
passenger-stations.  And  yet  back  in  the  neck  of 
woods  where  I  abide  there  are  those  who  think  that 
Kentucky  is  "no  slouch."  A  story  is  told  of  an  old 
darky  in  slave-holding  days  who  declared  that  his 
young  master  was  the  greatest  man  that  ever  lived. 
"Is  he  greater  than  Henry  Clay?"  "Yas,  sir." 
"Greater  than  General  Jackson?"  "Yas,  sir."  "Well, 
come  now,  Uncle  Ephraim,  you  we  n't  say  that  he  is 
greater  than  the  Almighty?"  Uncle  Ephraim  was 
stumped  for  a  moment.  "I  won'  say  dat,  sah;  no,  sah; 
but  he  ber'y  young  yit."  Kentucky  may  not  be  all 
that  Massachusetts  is;  but  Kentucky  is  "ber'y  young 
yit!" 

You  have  here  the  accretions  of  nearly  three  centu 
ries  of  thinking  and  doing.  A  single  century  ago  the 
hunters  of  Kentucky  were  threading  their  way  by  the 
light  of  pine-knot  and  rifle-flash  through  the  trackless 
canebrake  and  the  perilous  forest  to  plant  the  flag 
which  you  worship  and  I  adore  upon  the  first  stage  of 
its  westward  journey  around  the  world.  During 
that  War  of  Sections  which  extinguished  African  sla 
very  and  created  a  Nation,  Massachusetts  was  united 
to  a  man.  Kentucky  was  so  divided  that  she  sent  an 
equal  number  of  soldiers  into  both  of  the  contending 


The  Compromises  of  Life 

armies.  Throughout  the  period  succeeding  the  chaos 
of  that  great  upheaval,  while  Massachusetts  stood  off 
at  long  range  and  took  a  speculative  crack  at  all  crea 
tion,  Kentucky  had  to  grapple  with  its  realities:  to 
bind  up  the  wounds  of  the  body-corporate;  to  recover 
the  equipoise  of  the  body-politic;  to  bury  a  lost  cause 
and  to  repair  the  breaches  among  the  combatants.  We 
did  it.  We  are  still  doing  what  is  left  of  it  for  us  to 
do.  And,  though  we  lack  somewhat  of  the  wealth 
which  enables  you  to  wish  for  a  thing  and  to  have  it, 
and,  perhaps,  the  training  and  methods  of  order  which 
have  come  down  to  you  from  those  blody  riots  in  which 
you  will  not  deny  that  your  fathers  engaged — at  Lex 
ington  and  Concord  and  Bunker  Hill — yea,  in  the 
streets  of  this  very  town — we  are  getting  there,  and, 
let  me  repeat,  Kentucky  is  young  yet. 

Not  so  young,  however,  that  long  before  many  of 
us  here  present  were  born  she  was  not  old  enough  to 
go  partners  with  Massachusetts  to  help  the  manufac 
turers  fleece  the  farmers  under  the  pretension  that  high 
protective  duties  would  develop  our  infant  industries 
and  make  everybody  rich. 

I  beg  you  will  not  be  alarmed.  I  am  not  going  to 
discuss  the  Tariff.  Twenty-five  years  ago  I  ventured 
in  a  modest  Democratic  platform,  and  in  other  simple, 
childlike  ways,  to  advance  the  theory  that  "Custom 
house  taxation,"  and  I  might  have  added  all  taxation, 
"shall  be  for  revenue  only";  in  other  words,  that  the 
414 


Reciprocity  and  Expansion 

Government  has  no  constitutional  right  nor  power  in 
equity  to  levy  a  dollar  of  taxation  except  for  its  own 
support,  and  that,  when  the  sum  required  has  been  ob 
tained,  the  tax  shall  stop.  They  called  me  names. 
They  said  I  was  a  revolutionist.  They  even  went  the 
length  of  intimating  that  I  was  a  Radical,  and  that, 
you  know,  down  our  way,  is  equivalent  to  telling 
a  man  he  is  a  son-of-a-gun  from  Boston!  Worse 
than  all,  I  was  heralded  and  stigmatized  as  a  Free 
Trader.  Hoary  old  infant  industries,  exuding  the 
oleaginous  substance  of  subsidy  out  of  every  pore, 
climbed  upon  their  haunches  and  with  tears  in  their 
eyes  exclaimed,  "What,  would  you  deprive  us  children 
not  only  of  our  pap,  but  take  from  us  the  means  of  aid 
ing  the  poor  workingman  to  earn  a  living?"  Being  a 
person  of  tender  sensibilities  there  were  times  when  I 
wanted  to  creep  off  somewhere  and  weep.  Lo!  the 
scene  shifts,  and  what  do  I  see?  I  see  the  Republican 
party,  which  was  so  aghast  at  the  old-fashioned,  allo 
pathic  treatment  I  prescribed,  coming  out  as  a  full- 
fledged  Free  Trader  on  the  homoeopathic  plan;  its 
hands  full  of  protocolic  pill-boxes  loaded  with  Reci 
procity  capsules;  each  capsule  nicely  sugared  to  suit 
the  fancy  of  such  infants  as  accept  the  treatment,  each 
pill-box  bearing  the  old  reliable  Protectionist  label! 

I  should  be  disingenuous  if  I  affected  surprise.     In 
deed,  the  event  fulfils  a  prophecy  of  my  own.     Many 
years  ago,  talking  to  a  company  of  manufacturers  at 
415 


The  Compromises  of  Life 


A 


Pittsburg,  I  declared  that  the  day  was  not  far  distant 
when  Pennsylvania  would  be  for  Free  Trade,  while  a 
Protectionist  party  would  be  growing  in  Kentucky; 
that  with  plants  perfected,  with  trade-marks  fixed,  and 
patents  secure,  Pennsylvania,  seeking  cheaper  processes 
and  wider  markets,  would  say,  "Away  with  the  Tariff," 
while  the  owners  of  raw  material,  the  coal  barons,  and 
the  iron  lords  of  Kentucky,  would  cry  out,  "Hold  on, 
we  don't  want  the  robbing  to  stop  until  we  have  got  our 
share  of  it." 

I  have  lived  to  see — and  I  do  not  deny  Protectionism 
its  share  of  the  credit — my  contention  being  that  it  was 
bound  to  come  and  might  have  been  had  cheaper — I 
have  lived  to  see  the  American  manufacturer  able  to 
meet  this  foreign  rival  in  every  neutral  market  in  Chris 
tendom,  sure  at  least  of  recovering  and  controlling 
those  markets  that  geographically  belong  to  him;  be 
cause,  from  a  collar-button  to  a  locomotive,  the  finished 
product  of  the  American  manufacturer  to-day  beats  the 
world. 

And  this  leads  me  to  ask,  if  all  of  us  are  to  turn 
Free  Traders,  where  is  the  revenue  needful  to  support 
the  Government — economically  administered,  mind 
you,  economically  administered! — to  come  from?  We 
are  barred  direct  taxation.  Henry  George  being  dead, 
and  Tom  Johnson  alone  surviving,  Massachusetts,  the 
bell-wether  of  innovation,  will  have  to  wrestle  with 
the  Single  Tax  problem  even  as  long  as  she  wrestled 
416 


Reciprocity  and  Expansion 

with  the  problem  of  Abolition;  and,  meanwhile,  some 
how,  the  Government  must  live.  Is  it  possible  that, 
being  a  conservative  philosopher  and  a  responsible  jour 
nalist,  I  must  go  back  upon  my  own  progeny,  cross  my 
own  footprints,  and  become  the  champion  of  a  revenue 
tariff  with  "incidental  protection"  enough  to  supply 
our  poor  President,  and  his  advisers,  and  our  poor  Con 
gress,  and  other  of  our  impecunious  employes  in  the 
public  service  with  the  means  of  keeping  out  of  the 
poor-house?  Shall  there  be  another  scandal  about  an 
other  liaison  between  Massachusetts  and  Kentucky,  an 
other  league  between  the  Puritan  and  the  blackleg, 
another  era  of  bargain,  intrigue,  and  corruption  as  a 
consequence  of  our  forgathering  here  to-night?  Can 
it  be  that  it  was  for  this  you  would  lure  the  Star-eyed 
one  away  from  the  cold  pedestal,  whereon,  like  Niobe, 
she  stands,  all  tears,  to  these  gilded  halls  and  festive 
scenes?  I  was  warned  before  I  left  home  that  "those 
Yankees  are  mighty  cute,"  and  I  am  afraid  that,  when 
I  get  back,  the  wise  ones  will  shake  their  heads  and 
wonder  what  kind  of  walking  it  was  between  Boston 
Common  and  the  head-waters  of  the  Beargrass! 

Forgive  the  levity.  But  what  a  comedy  the  thing 
we  call  Government,  what  a  humbug  the  thing  we  call 
Politics!  And  yet,  after  all,  how  inevitable!  I  have 
seen  some  real  battles  in  my  time;  but  more  sham  bat 
tles,  and  I  do  declare  that  I  much  prefer  the  sham  bat 
tles  to  the  real  battles.  I  shall  always  contend  that 
417 


The   Compromises  of  Life 

politics  is  not  war ;  that  party  lines  are  not  lines  of  bat 
tle.  I  believe  that  we  shall  never  approach  the  ideal 
in  Government  until  we  have  forced  public  men  to 
speak  the  truth  and  hew  to  the  line  in  public  affairs, 
even  as  in  private  affairs,  the  same  laws  of  honor  hold 
ing  good  in  both;  and,  while  I  would  no  more  exclude 
sentiment  than  I  would  stop  the  circulation  of  blood, 
many  lessons  of  dear-bought  experience  admonish  me 
that  we  are  as  a  rule  nearest  to  being  in  error  when 
we  are  most  positive  and  emphatic;  that  grievous  in 
justice  and  injury  are  perpetrated  by  the  misrepresen 
tation  and  abuse  which  are  so  freely  visited  upon  pub 
lic  men  for  no  other  cause,  or  offence,  than  a  difference 
of  opinion ;  and  that  intolerance,  the  devil's  hand 
maiden,  in  our  private  relations,  embraces  the  sum  of 
all  viciousness  in  the  affairs  of  Church  and  State. 

Among  men  of  sense  and  judgment,  of  heart  and 
conscience,  the  subjects  of  real  difference  must  needs 
be  few  and  infrequent.  Even  these  may  be  often  ac 
commodated  without  hurt  to  any  interest,  all  govern 
ment  being  more  or  less  a  bundle  of  compromises.  It 
is  that  we  do  in  the  aggregate  what  no  one  of  us  would 
dream  of  doing  in  severally ;  the  point  turning  perhaps 
upon  the  division  of  responsibility,  but  more  upon  the 
pressure  which  in  excited  times  the  wrong-headed  and 
stout  of  will  impose  upon  the  more  moderate,  the  bet 
ter-tempered,  and  better-advised.  The  Press — partic 
ularly  the  Yellow  Press — is  doing  a  noble  work  toward 
418 


Reciprocity  and  Expansion 

the  correction  of  this  evil;  because  already  people  are 
beginning  to  believe  nothing  they  read  in  the  newspa 
pers,  and,  after  awhile,  tiring  of  an  endless,  daily  cir 
cuit  of  misinformation,  they  will  begin  to  demand  a 
journalism  less  interesting  and  more  trustworthy;  and, 
believe  me,  whenever  they  make  this  requisition — 
whenever  they  discriminate  between  the  organ  of  fact 
and  the  organ  of  fancy — there  shall  not  be  wanting 
editors  who  will  prefer  to  grow  rich  by  telling  the  truth 
than  to  die  poor  telling  lies.  We  may  not  have  reached 
yet  the  summit  of  human  perfectibility,  where  we  can 
hold  our  own  with  the  merchants  of  Boston,  but  even 
among  the  members  of  my  profession  the  self-sacri 
ficing  spirit  lives  apace,  and  the  time  will  come  when 
the  worst  of  us  will  scorn  the  scoop  that  is  no  longer 
profitable ! 

You  have  been  told,  and  many  of  you  doubtless  be 
lieve,  that  life  is  less  secure  in  Kentucky  than  in 
China,  or  even  in  Chicago ;  and  but  a  little  while  ago  a 
Kentucky  mother  was  represented  as  thanking  the  One 
Above  that  her  boy  was  bravely  fighting  in  the  Philip 
pines  instead  of  having  to  face  the  perils  of  the  deadly 
roof-tree  at  home.  You  have  been  told  that  justice 
cannot  be  had  in  our  courts  of  law.  You  have  been 
told  that,  because  we  have  some  surviving  prejudice 
against  bringing  the  black  man  and  brother  into  the 
bosom  of  our  families,  we  are  his  enemies  and  would 
take  unfair  advantage  of  his  ignorance  and  poverty. 
419 


The  Compromises  of  Life 

None  of  these  things  is  true.  They  are  the  figments  of 
a  bigotry  that  obstinately  refuses  to  see  both  sides. 
There  is  an  equal  quantum  of  human  nature  in  Ken 
tucky  and  in  Massachusetts.  There  are  as  many 
church-bells  in  the  Bluegrass  country  as  in  the  Bay 
State  country,  and  they  send  the  same  sweet  notes  to 
Heaven  and  sound  exactly  alike.  The  one  commu 
nity,  like  the  other,  may  be  trusted  to  do  its  part  by 
humanity  and  its  duty  to  the  State;  nor  can  the  one 
help  the  other  except  by  generous  allowance  for  in 
firmities  that  under  the  same  conditions  are  Common  to 
both,  and  by  manly  sympathy  in  the  cause  of  liberty 
and  truth,  which  was,  and  is,  and  ever  shall  be,  the 
glory  of  our  whole  country  and  the  fulfilment,  under 
God,  of  its  sublime  destiny. 

We  live  in  untoward  times.  We  have  witnessed 
wondrous  things.  With  the  passing  away  of  the  old 
problems,  new  problems  confront  us.  Modern  inven 
tion  has  smashed  the  clock  and  pitched  the  geography 
into  the  sea.  The  map  of  the  world,  so  completely  al 
tered  that  it  really  begins  to  look  like  the  Fourth  of 
July,  lends  itself  as  a  telescope  to  the  point  of  view. 
Concentration  is  becoming  the  universal  demand,  the 
survival  of  the  fittest  the  prevailing  law.  The  idio 
syncrasy  of  the  nineteenth  century  was  liberty.  The 
idiosyncrasy  of  the  twentieth  century  is  markets.  Be 
it  ours  to  look  to  it  that  we  steer  betwen  the  two  ex 
tremes  of  commercialism  and  anarchism,  for,  if  we  have 
420 


Reciprocity  and  Expansion 

not  come  to  the  heritage  which  God  and  Nature  and 
the  providence  of  our  fathers  stored  up  for  us,  to  em 
ploy  it  in  good  works,  we  had  better  not  come  to  it  at 
all. 

Thoughtful  Americans,  true  to  the  instincts  of  their 
manhood  and  their  racehood,  answering  the  promptings 
of  an  ever-watchful  patriotism ;  carrying  in  their  hearts 
the  principles  of  that  inspired  Declaration  to  which 
their  country  owes  its  being  as  one  among  the  nations 
of  the  earth;  carrying  in  their  minds  the  limitations 
of  that  matchless  Constitution  to  which  their  Govern 
ment  owes  its  stability  and  its  power;  conscientious, 
earnest  Americans,  whether  they  dwell  in  Massachu 
setts  or  in  Kentucky,  cannot  look  without  concern  upon 
the  peculiar  dangers  that  assail  us  as  we  plough  through 
the  treacherous  waters  which,  for  all  our  boasted  deep- 
sea  soundings,  threaten  to  engulf  the  ship  of  state, 
and,  along  with  it,  the  old-fashioned  lessons  of  econ 
omy,  the  simple  preachments  of  freedom  and  virtue  in 
which  those  fathers  thought  they  laid  the  keel  and 
raised  the  bulwarks  of  our  great  Republic. 

That  which  we  call  Expansion — coveted  by  some, 
deplored  and  dreaded  by  others — is  a  fact.  The  new 
ly  acquired  territories  are  with  us,  and  they  are  with 
us  to  stay;  a  century  hence  the  flag  will  be  floating 
where  it  now  floats,  unless  some  power  stronger  than 
we  are  ourselves  turns  up  to  drive  us  out.  The  very 
thought  of  the  vista  thus  opened  to  us  should  give  us 
421 


The  Compromises  of  Life 

pause,  should  chasten  and  make  us  humble  in  the  sight 
of  Heaven,  should  appal  us  with  the  magnitude  and 
multitude  of  its  responsibilities.  If  we  are  to  turn  the 
opportunities  they  embody  only  to  the  account  of  our 
avarice  and  pride ;  if  we  are  to  see  in  them  only  the  ad 
vancement  of  our  private  fortunes,  at  the  expense  of 
the  public  duty  and  honor;  if  we  are  to  tickle  away 
our  consciousness  of  wrong-doing  with  insincere  plati 
tudes  about  religion  and  civilization,  and  to  soothe  our 
conscience,  while  we  rob  and  slay  the  helpless,  with  the 
conceits  of  a  self-deluding  national  vanity,  then  it  had 
been  well  for  us,  and  for  our  c^'ldren,  and  our  chil 
dren's  children  that  Dewey  had  sailed  away,  though 
he  had  sailed  without  compass,  or  rudder,  or  objective 
point,  into  the  night  of  everlasting  mystery  and  obliv 
ion.  But  I  believe  nothing  of  the  kind.  I  believe  we 
shall  prove  a  contradiction  to  all  the  bad  examples  of 
history,  to  all  the  warning  voices  of  philosophy,  to  all 
the  homely  precepts  of  that  conservatism  which,  found 
ed  in  the  truest  love  of  country,  yet  takes  no  account  of 
the  revolution  wrought  by  modern  contrivance  upon 
the  character  and  movements  of  mankind.  I  believe 
that  the  American  Union  came  among  the  nations 
even  as  the  Christ  came  among  the  sons  of  men.  I 
believe  that  Constitutional  Freedom,  according  to  the 
charter  of  American  liberty,  is  to  government  what 
Christianity  is  to  religion;  and,  so  believing,  I  would 
apply  the  principles  and  precedents  of  that  charter  to 
422 


Reciprocity  and  Expansion 

the  administration  of  the  affairs  of  the  outlying  regions 
and  peoples  come  to  us  as  a  consequence  of  the  war 
with  Spain  precisely  as  they  were  applied  to  the  terri 
tories  purchased  of  France  and  acquired  of  Mexico ;  not 
merely  guaranteeing  to  them  the  same  uniformity  of 
laws  which  the  Constitution  ordains  in  the  States  of 
the  Union,  but  rearing  among  them  kindred  institu 
tions,  essential  not  less  to  our  safety  and  dignity  than 
to  their  prosperity  and  happiness.  Entertaining  no 
doubt  that  this  view  will  prevail  in  the  final  disposi 
tion,  my  optimism  is  as  unquenchable  as  my  Repub 
licanism;  and  both  forecast  in  my  mind's  eye  centuries 
of  greatness  and  glory  for  us  as  a  nation  and  as  a 
people. 

We  are  upon  the  ascending,  not  the  descending 
scale  of  national  and  popular  development.  We  are 
to  recreate  out  of  the  racial  agglomerations  which 
have  found  lodgment  here  a  new  species  and  a  better 
species  of  men  and  women.  We  are  to  revitalize  the 
primitive  religion,  with  its  often  misleading  theologies, 
into  a  new  and  practical  system  of  life  and  thought,  of 
universal  religion,  to  which  the  Declaration  of  Inde- 
dendence,  the  Constitution  of  the  United  States,  and 
the  Sermon  on  the  Mount  of  Olives  shall  furnish  the 
inspiration  and  the  key-note,  to  the  end  that  all  lands 
and  all  tribes  shall  teem  with  the  love  of  man  and  the 
glory  of  the  Lord.  We  are  passing,  it  may  be,  through 
an  era  of  acquisition  and  mediocrity,  a  formative  era, 
423 


The  Compromises  of  Life 

but  we  have  made  and  are  making  progress;  and,  in 
spite  of  the  threats  of  Mammon,  the  perils  that  en 
viron  the  excess  of  luxury  and  wealth,  in  spite  of  the 
viciousness  and  the  greed,  we  shall  reach  a  point  at 
last  where  money  will  be  so  plentiful,  its  uses  so  lim 
ited  and  defined,  that  it  will  have  no  longer  any  power 
to  corrupt. 

Although  this  is  an  association  of  merchants,  and 
Boston  merchants  at  that — professedly  committed  to 
the  principle  that  "business  is  business" — sometimes 
though  wrongfully  accused  of  "gainefulle  pillage" — I 
am  sure  that  there  is  no  one  amongst  us  who  does  not 
feel  that  the  unscrupulous  application  of  money  on 
every  hand  has  been  and  still  is  the  darkest  cloud  upon 
our  moral  horizon,  the  lion  across  our  highway,  stand 
ing  just  at  the  fork  of  the  roads,  one  of  which  leads 
up  patriotic  steeps  of  fame  and  glory,  the  other  down 
into  the  abysses  of  plutocracy,  opening  his  ferocious 
jaws  and  licking  his  bloody  lips  to  swallow  up  all  that 
is  great  and  noble  in  the  national  life. 

The  Hercules  who  strangles  that  lion  shall  be  called 
blessed  in  the  land,  and  this  leads  me  to  take  note  of 
the  presence  with  us  here  to-night  of  a  Hercules,  who 
is  said  to  know  more  about  that  lion  than  any  other 
Hercules,  living  or  dead.  I  mean,  of  course,  the  Chair 
man  of  the  National  Committee  of  one  of  the  two 
great  parties  contending  for  the  sovereignty  of  the 
people,  the  distinguished,  the  eminent  Senator,  the  hon- 
424 


Reciprocity  and  Expansion 

ored  neighbor  and  friend  who  sits  near  me.  Though 
not  a  Kentuckian  himself,  he  has  a  brother  who  came 
to  Kentucky  to  bear  away  upon  the  wings  of  love  one 
of  our  fairest  daughters.  According  to  the  law  of  the 
vicinage  down  our  way,  the  circumstance  makes  us 
"kind  o'  kin,"  as  the  saying  is,  and  by  that  token  I 
have  a  proposition  to  submit  to  him.  If  he  accepts  it, 
I  will  go  bail  that  my  party  associates  ratify  my  act. 

He  knows  and  I  know  how  hard  it  is  to  raise  money 
even  for  the  legitimate  purposes  of  a  national  cam 
paign.  Yet  many  people  imagine  that  more  or  less  it 
is  merely  to  give  the  skillet  an  extra  shake  or  two. 
Those  who  have  least  actual  familiarity  with  money 
are  pronest  to  thinking  of  millions  as  millionnaires 
think  of  pennies.  Thousands  of  good  people  believe 
that  for  everybody  except  themselves  money  grows  on 
bushes,  and  that  all  elections  are  knocked  down  to  the 
highest  bidder.  The  bare  fact  is  lowering  both  to  our 
political  standards  and  our  standards  of  morality. 
The  mere  statement  is  in  a  sense  degrading.  Never 
theless,  it  is  undoubtedly  true  that  money  is  as  essen 
tial  to  political  battles  as  powder  and  ball  to  actual 
battles,  and  the  proposition  I  have  to  submit  to  my 
friend,  the  Senator  from  Ohio,  is  that  he  and  I  come 
to  an  agreement  about  what  sum  of  money  the  two 
organizations  will  require  honestly  to  tide  them 
through  to  the  next  Presidential  election ;  that  we  raise 
this  sum  on  a  joint  note  and  divide  the  proceeds  equally ; 
425 


The  Compromises  of  Life 

and  that,  when  the  election  is  over,  the  party  carry 
ing  the  country  shall  pay  the  note!  If  it  be  an  induce 
ment,  I  will  further  agree  that  the  money  to  be  raised 
shall  be  of  standard  weight  and  value,  expressed  in 
gold  and  silver  and  paper  convertible  into  either  at  the 
will  of  the  holder. 

But,  whether  this  or  some  other  plan  be  reached  to 
abridge  the  use  of  money  in  elections,  I  do  not  doubt 
that  we  shall  in  the  end  weather  the  breakers  of  plu 
tocracy. 

It  is  true,  that,  possessed  of  no  great  aristocratic 
titles,  or  patents  of  nobility,  money  becomes,  and  will 
probably  remain,  the  simplest  and  readiest  of  all  our 
standards  of  measurement.  Yet,  even  now,  it  is  grown 
such  a  drug  in  the  market,  that  some  far-seeing  men, 
finding  it.  so  plentiful  and  easy  to  get,  are  giving  it 
away  in  sacks  and  baskets.  Time  will  show  that  its 
value  is  relative,  and  that  after  the  actual  needs  of 
life  it  will  buy  nothing  that  wise  men  will  think  worth 
having  at  the  cost  either  of  their  conscience  or  their 
credit.  Give  me  the  right — not  in  the  character  of  an 
abstraction,  so  often  misleading  to  theorists  and  doc 
trinaires — not  as  a  flash  of  fancy,  so  often  irradiating 
the  dreams  of  the  visionary  with  its  illusory  hopes — 
but  the  plain,  simple  right  in  plain  and  simple  things, 
obvious  to  the  reasonable  and  the  fair-minded,  arising 
out  of  the  common-sense  and  common  honesty  of  the 
common  people,  relating  to  the  actualities  of  govern- 
426 


Reciprocity  and  Expansion 

ment  and  life,  and  driving  home  to  the  business  and 
bosoms  of  men — and  I  care  not  for  the  golden  con 
tents  of  all  the  "bar'ls"  that  were  ever  tapped  by  sor 
did  ambition,  or  consecrated  themselves  as  rich  liba 
tions  on  the  altars  of  opulent  partyism. 

The  people,  as  a  people,  can  never  be  corrupted. 
The  whole  history  of  a  hundred  years  of  constitutional 
government  in  America,  the  i.ioral  lesson  and  the  ex 
perience  of  all  our  parties,  may  be  told  in  a  single  sen 
tence,  that,  when  any  political  organism,  grown  over 
confident  by  its  successes  and  faithless  to  its  duty, 
thinks  it  has  the  world  in  a  sling,  public  opinion  just 
rears  back  on  its  hind  legs  and  kicks  it  out.  In  that 
faith  I  rest  my  hope  of  the  future  of  the  country;  sure 
that  in  the  long  run  wrong  cannot  prosper,  and  that 
an  enlightened  public  opinion  is  a  certain  cure  for 
every  ill. 

Gentlemen,  Kentucky  salutes  Massachusetts!  Come 
and  see  us!  You  shall  find  the  latch-string  always 
hanging  outside  the  door! 


427 


FAREWELL   TO   THE    KENTUCKY 
TROOPS  * 

I  take  it  for  granted  that  there  is  no  one  of  you 
who  has  enlisted  for  a  soldier  who  does  not  want  to  be 
a  soldier  and  who  has  not  resolved  to  be  a  soldier. 
That  much  at  least  is  the  heritage  of  the  Kentuckian. 
But  even  in  soldiership  there  is  a  right  way  and  a  wrong 
way.  The  famous  Confederate  General  Forrest  said 
of  war  that  "it  means  fighting  and  fighting  means  kill 
ing."  He  also  said  of  success  in  battle  that  it  is  "get 
ting  there  first  with  the  most  men."  Some  of  us  are 
old  enough  to  remember  the  delusion  that  once  had  a 
certain  vogue  among  the  unthinking  that  one  South 
erner  could  whip  six  Yankees.  We  got  bravely  over 
that;  and  now  that  we  are  all  Yankees,  let  it  not  be 
imagined  that  one  Yankee  can  whip  six  Spaniards.  It 
is  always  better  to  overrate  than  to  underrate  the  en 
emy.  He  fights  best  who  fights  truest.  He  fights  best 
who  knows  why  he  fights  and  for  what  he  fights,  and 
who,  when  he  goes  under  fire,  says  to  himself,  "I  have 
but  one  time  to  die,  and,  please  God,  I  am  as  ready 
now  as  ever  I  shall  be."  The  Irish  have  a  couplet 
which  declares: 

*  Lexington,  K.V.,  Friday,  May  ay,  1898. 
428 


Farewell  to  the  Kentucky  Troops 

"Not  man,  nor  monarch,  half  so  proud 
As  he  whose  flag  becomes  his  shroud." 


That  is  only  another  way  of  repeating  the  old  Latin 
heroic  that  it  is  sweet  to  die  for  one's  country. 

You  are  about  to  make  history.  It  may  prove  that 
this  will  not  be  history  merely  repeating  itself.  For 
the  first  time  since  the  Crusades  war  has  been  levied 
for  no  cause  of  a  purely  material  kind,  and  with  no 
selfish  purpose.  I  scarcely  like  the  shibboleth  "Remem 
ber  the  Maine."  It  seems  to  me  too  revengeful  to  be 
quite  worthy.  I  do  not  forget  the  circumstance  to 
which  it  owes  its  origin.  The  scene  of  that  awful 
tragedy  under  the  shadow  of  Morro  Castle  is  yet  be 
fore  my  eyes.  I  can  see,  as  I  close  them,  the  very  faces 
of  our  murdered  sailors  with  the  ghastliness  of  death 
upon  them.  But  I  also  see  the  myriads  of  starving  men, 
women,  and  children,  ruthlessly  sacrificed  to  feed  the 
lust  and  to  fill  the  pockets  of  professional  plunderers 
masquerading  in  Cuba  as  Spanish  officers  and  gentle 
men.  Behind  them  I  see  three  centuries  of  wanton  pil 
lage,  of  frightful  corruption,  of  cruelty  unsurpassed  in 
human  annals.  The  time  was  long  ago  come  for  some 
great  power  to  stretch  forth  its  hand,  to  interpose  its 
authority,  and  to  say  to  the  world,  "This  barbarism 
shall  stop."  What  power  except  that  of  the  United 
States  was  to  do  this?  Cuba  is  our  next-door  neighbor. 
Time  out  of  mind  these  atrocities  have  been  perpetrated 
429 


The  Compromises  of  Life 

before  our  eyes.  While  Spain  has  required  us  to  spend 
millions  of  money  policing  our  coasts  against  the  fili 
busters,  she  has  shown  herself  unable,  or  unwilling,  in 
our  protection,  to  police  one  of  her  own  harbors.  Was 
this  to  go  on  forever?  You  yourselves  are  the  answer 
to  the  question. 

You  are  going  to  fight  a  battle  waged  by  man  for 
man.  You  are  going  therefore  in  the  name  of  that 
Christ  who  died  for  men.  You  are  going  to  fight  a 
battle  for  the  glory  of  God  and  your  native  land.  You 
are  going,  therefore,  under  a  flag  which,  the  symbol 
at  once  of  freedom  and  humanity,  and  having  God's 
blessing  upon  it,  has  never  yet  known  defeat.  Look  to 
it  that  you  carry  yourselves  as  soldiers  equally  of  the 
cross  and  of  the  flag. 

No  man  can  be  a  good  soldier  who  is  not  at  heart  a 
good  man.  While  courage  in  battle  is  the  first  essen 
tial  of  a  good  soldier,  it  is  by  no  means  the  only  essen 
tial,  for  close  along  with  it  come  endurance  under  trial 
and  moderation  in  action.  Nor  is  the  best  courage  the 
absence  of  fear.  Fearlessness,  indeed,  is  a  virtue  rather 
comfortable  to  him  that  hath  it  than  commendable  by 
the  rest  of  us,  because  no  man  deserves  credit  for 
what  was  born  to  him  and  for  what  he  cannot  help. 
Very,  very  few  possess  it.  When  cannon  begin  to 
growl,  grim  watchdogs  whose  bark  is  something  worse 
than  their  bite,  and  bullets  like  birds  of  evil  omen  be 
gin  to  sing  their  song  of  death,  the  greater  number  of 
430 


Farewell  to  the  Kentucky  Troops 

you  will  find  yourselves  very  sensible  of  danger.  Do 
not  mistake  this  apprehension  for  cowardice.  It  is  no 
such  thing.  Self-possession  in  the  presence  of  danger 
is  the  truest  courage,  and  he  is  the  bravest  soldier  who 
keeps  his  head,  who  knows  perfectly  the  right  thing  to 
do,  and  who  does  it,  when,  frightened  out  of  his  boots, 
his  legs  would  fain  carry  him  away.  It  is  the  sense  of 
duty  which  will  make  you  men ;  duty  to  the  flag  above 
you;  duty  to  constituted  authority;  duty  to  country 
and  honor,  and  to  those  dear  ones  at  home  who  will 
follow  you  with  ever-tearful,  but  with  ever-brighten 
ing  eyes. 

After  what  I  have  said  it  will  be  superfluous  to  add 
that  I  believe  in  this  war.  I  believe  in  it  with  all  my 
mind  and  with  all  my  soul.  If  ever  there  was  a  jus 
tified  war  it  is  this.  Though  it  should  rob  me  of  lives 
that  are  dearer  to  me  than  my  own  life,  I  shall  believe 
it  conceived  in  a  holy  spirit,  sanctified  by  Heaven,  and 
directed  toward  the  advancement  and  the  enlargement 
of  a  benign  civilization. 

In  these  warlike  spectacles  everywhere  manifest,  it 
has  already  united  us  as  nothing  else  could  have  united 
us — emancipated  both  sections  of  the  Union  from  the 
mistaken  impression  that  we  ever  were,  or  ever  could 
be,  anything  else  than  one  people.  In  the  brilliant 
achievement  of  that  typical  Green  Mountain  boy  on 
the  other  side  of  the  globe,  it  has  already  exploited  us  as 
a  naval  power,  and,  as  you  yourselves  shall  show,  it  will 
431 


The  Compromises  of  Life 

presently  demonstrate  us  no  less  a  military  power,  be 
fore  whose  legions  the  enemies  of  liberty  and  humanity 
will  do  well  to  look  before  they  leap.  Surely,  these 
were  consummations  devoutly  to  be  wished.  They  are 
worth  all  the  war  has  cost  us,  or  will  cost  us.  I  know 
what  war  means.  I  have  seen  it  in  all  its  horrors  and 
terrors.  But  there  is  something  even  worse  than  war. 
To  become  a  nation,  not  only  of  shop-keepers,  but  of 
dishonest  shop-keepers;  to  wear  away  our  lives  beat 
ing  one  another  out  of  a  few  degrading  dollars  the 
more  or  the  less;  to  find  in  the  boasted  arts  of  peace 
nothing  nobler  than  the  piling  up  of  riches,  and  the 
gratification  of  propensities  growing  more  and  more 
ignoble  with  increasing  luxury  and  wealth;  and, 
finally,  through  the  systematic  violation  of  natural 
laws  and  amid  artificial  class  distinctions  and  hideous 
contrasts  of  life,  to  emasculate  the  Anglo-Saxon  species 
in  America — these  things  seem  to  me  even  worse  than 
war.  We  have  had  thirty-three  years  of  peace ;  and  we 
seemed  to  be  approaching  perilously  near  domestic  con 
ditions  appalling  to  contemplate.  This  peace  has  now 
been  broken.  We  are  in  the  midst  of  war,  and  war  is 
a  great  educator. 

It  is  at  one  and  the  same  time  a  university  course 
and  a  career;  and  he  who  comes  out  of  the  fiery  ordeal 
with  honor,  though  he  come  upon  crutches,  brings  with 
him  a  degree  no  college  can  confer.  It  is  for  you  not 
alone  to  meet  the  requirements  of  the  service;  not  alone 
432 


Farewell  to  the  Kentucky  Troops 

to  vindicate  your  motives  in  taking  the  field;  but  to 
learn,  as  your  lives  pass  through  the  crucible  of  honor 
able  war,  how  to  retrieve  the  mistakes  of  your  genera 
tion,  so  that  when  you  return  victors  to  your  homes 
and  become  citizens  again,  you  may  turn  back  the  tide 
of  evil  counsels  and  wicked  passions  which  was  begin 
ning  to  run  to  the  centre  of  the  stream,  making  men  to 
love  money  more  than  honor,  to  put  their  pockets  above 
their  conscience  and  their  party  above  their  country. 
War  leaves  no  man  where  it  found  him;  but,  if  he  be 
a  true  man,  it  will  make  him  a  better  man. 

I  do  not  doubt  the  result  of  this  war.  But  I  should 
whisper  into  your  ear  the  blandishments  of  a  most  mis 
leading  optimism  if  I  should  promise  you  that  it  will 
be  all  play  and  no  work,  all  parade  and  no  danger.  He 
who  thinks  so  should  remain  at  home.  Under  the  best 
conditions  a  soldier's  life  is  a  hard  life.  As  one  who 
has  seen  it  under  its  worst  conditions,  let  me  at  least 
encourage  you  with  the  assurance  that  you  are  not 
likely  to  meet  anything  quite  so  hard  as  your  fathers 
met  four  or  five  and  thirty  years  ago.  Of  course,  it 
should  go  without  saying  that  we  were  better  men  than 
you  can  hope  to  be.  That  much  is  the  old  man's  priv 
ilege  as  it  is  his  boast,  and,  since  the  satisfaction  of  his 
vanity  costs  you  nothing,  and  is  in  a  sense  a  tribute  to 
your  own  conceit,  it  may  perchance  strengthen  you  in 
the  moment  of  peril,  console  you  in  the  moment  of  pri 
vation,  and,  as  in  fancy  you  look  back  and  see  him  por- 
433 


The  Compromises  of  Life 

ing  over  the  latest  tidings  from  the  front,  it  may  nerve 
you  for  the  combat  and  make  you  braver  soldiers  and 
better  men. 

I  will  not  insult  you  by  intimating  that  you  must 
not  be  afraid  of  fighting,  for  that  is  what  you  came 
for;  that  is  your  business;  that  is,  as  the  children  say, 
where  you  live.  But  let  me  suggest  that  you  be  not 
afraid  of  work.  Don't  be  afraid  of  marching  and 
mounting  guard.  Don't  be  afraid  of  cooking  your 
victuals,  if  you  are  fortunate  enough  to  have  any  vict 
uals  to  cook,  or  of  washing  your  clothes — even  of 
washing  yourselves — in  case  you  happen  to  be  camped 
near  a  running  stream.  Don't  be  afraid  of  being  for 
gotten  or  neglected.  Don't  be  afraid  of  not  getting 
enough  campaigning.  Above  all,  don't  be  afraid  of 
foreign  intervention.  If  you  will  take  care  of  the 
Spaniards,  I  will  engage,  as  Prince  Bismarck  is  older 
than  I  am,  to  take  care  of  him,  and  maybe  of  his  young 
master,  and,  incidentally,  while  you  are  away,  to  look 
after  Kentucky,  and  Europe,  and  Asia,  and  Africa! 
In  short,  dear  boys,  and  may  I  not  call  you  fellow-sol 
diers,  the  sum  total  of  it  is  stated  in  a  single  sentence: 
Do  your  duty. 

Obedience,  submission,  is  the  first,  and,  perhaps,  the 
hardest  of  the  soldier's  duties.  If  officers  seem  capri 
cious,  or  tyrannical,  do  your  duty.  It  will  come  round 
all  right.  If  the  powers  that  be  seem  partisan,  or  un 
fair,  do  your  duty.  The  end  will  justify  you.  Be 
434 


Farewell  to  the  Kentucky  Troops 

sure  that,  in  the  long  run,  the  man  who  does  his  duty 
passes  beyond  the  reach  of  wrong;  for,  as  there  is  a 
God  who  saith,  "Vengeance  is  mine — I  will  repay,"  so 
is  there  a  people,  whose  voice  is  the  voice  of  God,  who 
will  visit  upon  those  that  would  convert  the  places  of 
trust  which  they  chance  to  hold  into  places  of  private 
or  political  advantage,  a  punishment  as  complete  as  it 
is  certain,  as  blighting  as  it  is  overwhelming. 

With  respect  to  the  surgical  examinations,  Colonel 
Castleman  made  a  remark  the  other  day  which  greatly 
impressed  me.  He  said  the  Government  seemed  to 
want  machines  instead  of  soldiers.  That  was  well 
said.  An  army  must,  indeed,  be  a  machine.  But  the 
soldiers  which  make  up  an  army  must  be  men.  The 
war  between  the  sections  was  prolonged  during  four 
years  of  unexampled  battle  because  the  soldiers  who 
fought  it  were  men  and  not  machines.  In  the  army 
with  which  all  too  imperfectly  I  served,  there  was  a 
private  soldier  who  enlisted  with  the  very  first  in  1861  ; 
he  was  a  young  lawyer,  come  with  distinction  from  one 
of  the  greatest  of  the  schools;  a  scholar  and  a  man  of 
genius.  He  might  have  had  the  captaincy  of  his  com 
pany,  and,  later  on,  been  one  of  the  field  officers  of  his 
regiment.  He  refused  a  commission,  shouldered  his 
musket,  and  footed  it  with  the  boys.  He  was  in  every 
battle.  More  than  once  upon  the  field  exigencies  re 
quired  him  to  command  considerable  numbers  of  men ; 
but  he  persistently  declined  promotion.  Though  but 
435 


The  Compromises  of  Life 

a  private  in  the  ranks,  he  became  conspicuous  in 
the  army.  I  once  asked  him  why  it  was  that  he 
courted  obscurity,  and  he  said  that  his  ambitions  were 
not  of  the  military  sort,  beyond  the  doing  of  his  duty; 
that  he  had  enlisted  from  a  sense  of  duty,  and  duty 
alone;  that  he  expected  the  war  at  some  time  to  end, 
and  when  it  was  over  he  wanted  to  be  ready  for  the 
work  of  civil  life,  and,  particularly,  for  the  work  of  his 
profession,  which  greatly  concerned  him;  and  that, 
free  from  the  responsibilities  and  cares  of  a  command, 
he  was  able  to  continue  his  studies,  to  trim  his  lamp 
and  keep  it  bright,  and,  in  many  ways,  while  serving 
his  own  conceptions,  to  set  an  example  and  to  do  good 
among  his  immediate  surroundings.  He  fell  in  front 
of  Atlanta ;  and,  when  they  lifted  his  lifeless  body  from 
the  earth,  his  hands  clung  to  a  musket  and  a  little  vol 
ume  of  Greek  verse  fell  from  his  knapsack.  There  is 
nothing  upon  the  simple  stone  that  marks  his  resting- 
place  but  the  inscription,  "Wright  Smith  Hackett," 
but  thirty  years  ago  there  were  many  thousands  of 
brave  men  who  knew  how  much  that  name  stood  for! 
In  the  nature  of  the  case  but  few  of  you  can  hope 
to  attain  to  great  commands,  or  to  acquire  exceptional 
distinction.  In  the  end  most  of  you  must  lay  aside 
your  uniforms  and  resume  the  habiliments  of  civil  life. 
But  there  is  no  one  of  you  who  cannot  do  his  duty, 
and,  doing  his  duty,  cannot  be  proud  and  happy.  A 
neighbor  of  mine  came  to  see  me  the  other  day  to  ask 
436 


Farewell  to  the  Kentucky  Troops 

me  to  exert  my  supposed  influence  in  getting  his  son  a 
commission.  I  assured  him  that  I  have  no  influence. 
"But,"  said  I,  "I  have  two  sons  carrying  muskets  in 
the  ranks — sons  whom  I  dearly  love — but  for  whose 
advancement  I  shall  not  put  forth  the  slightest  effort. 
It  is  enough  for  me  to  know  that  they  are  serving  their 
country,  and  if  it  pleases  God  to  bring  them  back  to 
their  mother  and  me  safe  and  sound,  I  shall  bless  His 
name  as  long  as  I  live." 

In  that  prayer  let  me  include  each  and  every  one  of 
you ;  though  I  would  rather  see  my  boys,  and  each  and 
every  one  of  you,  lying  by  the  side  of  that  brave  and 
lovely  sailor  lad  whom  North  Carolina  has  just  given 
up  as  Heaven's  first  sacrifice  upon  the  altars  of  the 
Nation  and  Mankind,  than  that  one  feather  should  be 
plucked  from  the  eagle's  wing,  or  a  syllable  of  re 
proach  he  justly  cast  upon  the  name  and  fame  of  our 
dear  Kentucky! 


437 


BLOOD  THICKER  THAN  WATER* 

I  want  to  talk  you  to-night,  not  as  a  Democrat  to 
Republicans,  but  as  an  American  to  Americans.  I  have 
always  resisted  and  resented  the  idea  that  party  lines 
are  lines  of  battle ;  that  party  issues  are  proclamations  of 
war.  Our  Government  rests  upon  the  theory  that  we 
are  equal  shareholders  in  a  common  property.  Touch 
ing  the  administration  of  this  property  there  will  always 
exist  honest  differences  of  opinion.  Good  citizenship 
imposes  upon  each  of  us  the  duty  of  entertaining  his  own 
convictions  and  of  living  up  to  them;  but  he  ',-ecomes 
little  other  than  a  bigot  who  thinks  more  of  himself  on 
this  account,  and  loves  his  neighbor  less,  because  that 
neighbor,  exercising  the  same  right,  does  the  same  thing. 

April  13,  1 86 1,  Sumter  fell.  April  9,  1865,  Lee  sur 
rendered.  The  four  years  intervening  between  those 
dates,  marking  the  beginning  and  the  end  of  the  most 
momentous  struggle  of  modern  times,  witnessed  such  an 
outpouring  of  blood  and  treasure,  such  displays  of  cour 
age  and  endurance,  such  sacrifices  for  opinion's  sake,  as 
stagger  human  credulity  and  beggar  alike  the  powers  of 

*  A  response  to  the  toast  "  Peace  Between  the  Sections,"  Hamilton 
Club  Banquet,  Auditorium,  Chicago,  April  9,  1903. 

438 


Blood  Thicker  than  Water 

computation  and  recapitulation.  Never  in  any  preced 
ing  war  was  there  so  little  of  public  wrong,  so  much  of 
private  generosity ;  nor  ever  were  the  results  of  any  war 
so  complete  and  final.  Elsewhere  upon  the  surface  of 
the  earth  traces  may  yet  be  seen,  sometimes  yet  lurking 
in  the  hearts  of  men  sensibilities  may  be  found,  of  strifes, 
religious  or  racial,  international  or  civil,  one,  two,  and 
three  centuries  agone;  in  America  not  a  vestige  except 
what  springs  from  associated  charities  and  reciprocal 
ministrations  of  patriotism  and  benevolence.  Northern 
men  and  women  mark  and  decorate  the  last  resting- 
place  of  Southern  soldiers  who  died  in  Federal  prisons. 
Confederate  officers  sit  in  both  Houses  of  Congress  and 
upon  the  bench  of  the  national  judiciary,  and  have  re 
peatedly  served  in  presidential  cabinets  and  represented 
the  country  abroad.  At  least  two  Confederate  generals 
wear  the  uniform  of  the  United  States  army,  glad  to  be 
assured  that  the  flag  which  waved  over  their  cradles 
shall  wave  over  their  graves.  The  Chief  Magistrate  of 
the  United  States  is  half  a  Southerner  and  all  a  rebel  ; 
God  bless  him,  and  may  the  Lord  keep  him  in  the  path 
of  wisdom  and  virtue!  Already  over  the  fireside  of 
many  a  home  hang  the  swords  of  the  grandfather  who 
wore  the  blue  and  the  grandfather  who  wore  the  gray, 
placed  there  by  pious  hands  as  priceless  memorials  of 
love  and  valor,  crossed  at  last  in  the  everlasting  peace  of 
a  reunited  family. 

To  what  do  we  owe  these  miracles  of  enlightened 
439 


The   Compromises   of  Life 

progress?  Mainly  to  the  good  sense  and  good  feeling, 
the  rich,  red  blood  of  American  manhood ;  partly  to  the 
recognition  by  reflecting  and  generous  minds  that 
neither  party  to  that  great  sectional  conflict  had  all  the 
right  of  it,  its  antagonist  all  the  wrong.  On  this  point 
I  can  speak  with  tolerable  assurance.  I  belonged  to 
that  segment  of  conservative  men  in  the  South  who 
loved  the  Union  and  did  not  accept  either  the  gospel  of 
African  slavery  or  the  dogma  of  secession.  The  debate 
ended,  the  god  of  battle  invoked  to  settle  what  had  in 
deed  proved  an  irrepressible  conflict,  we  went  with  our 
own  side.  But  four  years  later,  when,  in  1865,  all  that 
we  had  feared  in  1861  was  actually  come  to  pass,  we 
needed  no  act  of  Congress  either  for  our  redemption  or 
reconstruction. 

The  better  to  illustrate  the  situation,  let  me  relate  an 
incident  that  happened  in  Tennessee  toward  the  close 
of  the  war.  The  Union  general,  Lovell  Rousseau,  of 
Kentucky,  found  himself  encamped  on  the  farm  of 
Meredith  Gentry,  a  famous  orator  of  the  old  Whig 
party.  Gentry  had  been  Rousseau's  file-leader,  his 
political  idol,  a  Whig  of  Whigs,  a  Unionist  of  Union 
ists;  but,  swallowed  by  the  movements  of  the  time,  he 
had  allowed  his  district,  early  in  1862,  to  elect  him  to 
the  Confederate  Congress.  He  went  to  Richmond, 
found  himself  out  of  place  there,  did  not  like  it,  and 
returned  home,  where,  among  his  books,  under  his  vine 
and  fig-tree,  he  awaited  the  inevitable.  Rousseau,  his 
440 


Blood  Thicker  than  Water 

heart  overflowing  with  unquenched  affection,  thought 
he  would  have  a  bit  of  fun  with  his  friend.  He  caused 
a  feast  to  be  prepared,  invited  all  the  good  fellows  he 
could  reach,  and  sent  a  file  of  soldiers,  with  a  sergeant 
and  an  order  of  arrest,  to  fetch  Gentry  into  camp.  It 
was  all  real  to  the  imaginary  captive.  Brought  into 
the  presence  of  the  Federal  general,  and  what  appeared 
to  be  a  drum-head  court-martial,  the  old  statesman  drew 
himself  to  his  full  height,  and  in  sonorous  but  broken 
tones  he  said:  "General  Rousseau,  you  know  that  I 
loved  the  Union.  Upon  the  altars  of  the  Union  I 
poured  out  the  dearest  aspirations  of  my  young  man 
hood.  I  grew  gray  in  the  service.  Finally,  the  stern- 
wheel  steambot  Secession  came  along.  I  saw  first 
one  neighbor,  then  another  neighbor,  get  aboard,  and, 
when  all  were  aboard  except  me,  and  I  stood  alone  upon 
the  shore,  and  they  were  about  to  haul  in  the  gang 
plank,  I  cried:  'Hold  on,  boys;  I  will  go  with  you,  if 
.  you  go  to  hell !'  " 

I  chanced  to  be  in  Europe  a  little  while  after  the  war. 
Such  trifling  distinctions  as  Federal  and  Confederate 
were  unknown.  All  of  us  were  Yankees.  Then  and 
there,  I  took  a  bee  line  in  the  direction  of  the  bunting, 
and  have  been  snuggling  beneath  its  folds  from  that  day 
to  this.  I  did  not  believe  in  slavery.  I  did  not  believe 
in  secession.  Heavens,  if  I  had — !  But  what  is  the 
use  speculating  about  inconjectural  possibilities?  The 
doctrine  of  secession  did  not  originate  at  the  South,  but 
441 


The  Compromises  of  Life 

at  the  North;  it  was  not  the  South  that  brought  the 
Negro  from  Africa,  but  the  North.  In  the  very  begin 
ning  the  seeds  of  dissolution  were  sown.  The  makers  of 
the  Constitution  left  the  exact  relations  of  the  Federal 
Government  to  the  States  and  of  the  States  to  the  Fed 
eral  Government  open  to  a  double  construction.  In 
claiming  thence  the  right  to  secede,  Yancey  followed 
after  Pickering,  Jefferson  Davis  after  Gouverneur  Mor 
ris.  Curiously  enough,  this  right  of  secession,  such  as 
it  may  be,  stands  yet  in  the  Constitution  unchallenged 
and  unabridged.  You  said  by  act  of  Congress  that  the 
black  man  should  be  a  white  man.  You  confiscated  the 
debts  and  the  money  of  the  Confederacy.  But  you  left 
in  the  Constitution  that  fatal  double  construction  to 
which,  along  with  slavery,  we  owed  all  our  trouble, 
and  there  it  is  to-day,  so  that  if  I  want  to  take  Kentucky 
and  go  out  of  the  Union,  there  is  no  statute  to  hinder 
me,  and,  though  you  may  make  it  uncomfortable  for  me, 
you  cannot  find  the  law  to  hang  me  for  treason.  I  beg 
that  you  will  not  be  disturbed.  I  am  not  going  to  do  it. 
I  know  that  there  are  many  Northern  statesmen,  con 
scientious  and  learned,  who  cannot  assent  to  this  view. 
They  do  not  think  it  best  to  accept  so  light  an  estimate 
of  what  they  regard  as  a  great  crime.  But  why  not? 
Recalling  Burke's  aphorism  touching  his  inability  to 
draft  an  indictment  of  an  entire  people — even  though 
the  subjects  of  a  King — how  may  ten  millions  of  free 
men  be  criminally  arraigned  by  twenty  millions  of  their 
442 


Blood  Thicker  than  Water 

fellow-citizens  because  of  the  consequences  of  an  honest 
difference  of  Constitutional  construction,  embracing 
some  of  the  foremost  jurists,  some  of  the  purest  patriots, 
from  Josiah  Quincy  and  John  C.  Calhoun  to  Alexander 
H.  Stephens  and  Salmon  P.  Chase?  Why  should  the 
North  want  to  draw  such  an  indictment  of  the  South? 
The  North  won  all,  the  South  lost  all.  No  one  of  the 
principals  survives.  Millions  of  stalwart  Americans 
have  been  born  and  have  reached  manhood — many  of 
them  middle  age — since  the  last  shot  was  fired  in  that 
conflict.  Some  of  them  serve  in  the  army  and  some  of 
them  in  the  navy.  Some  of  them  go  to  the  length  of 
describing  themselves  as  "Veterans  of  the  Spanish 
War."  All  of  them  are  ready,  eager  to  answer  the  call 
of  their  country.  Why  should  any  thoughtful,  patriotic 
American  want  to  put  a  blot  upon  the  family  escutcheon 
of  these  Americans?  Why  should  any  thoughtful, 
patriotic  American  seek  to  discriminate  between  any 
body  of  upright  and  brave  Americans,  who  did  their 
duty  as  God  gave  them  the  light  to  see  it?  What  good 
reason  can  any  thoughtful,  patriotic  American  give  for 
the  wish  to  establish  an  historic  line,  blacklisting  the 
people  of  a  section,  who  met  defeat  so  manfully  and 
have  taken  upon  themselves  the  renewed  obligations  of 
citizenship  so  loyally  ? 

I  did  not  come  here  to-night  to  exploit  myself,  or  to 
join  in  the  exchange  of  immaterial  compliments,  how 
ever  agreeable.     I  came  because  I  thought  I  might  con- 
443 


The  Compromises  of  Life 

tribute  something  to  the  common  stock  of  information 
touching  the  present  relations  of  the  North  and  the 
South.  There  is  already  "peace  between  the  sections." 
Never  since  the  creation  of  the  Government  has  there 
been  a  greater  uniformity,  a  deeper  effusion  of  national 
sentiment.  We  are  not  merely  a  united  people,  we  are 
a  homogeneous  people.  Mississippi  and  Massachusetts 
are  convertible  terms,  and  it  needs  only  a  few  weeks, 
and  a  change  of  raiment,  to  convert  a  typical  Vermonter 
into  a  typical  Texan.  We  used  to  hear  a  good  deal 
about  the  Puritan  and  the  Cavalier.  During  our  sec 
tional  war  the  armies  of  the  North  were  full  of  Cava 
lier  soldiers,  such  as  Wadsworth  and  Kearny  in  the 
East,  as  McPherson  and  Custer  in  the  West,  while  the 
one  representative  Puritan  soldier,  Stonewall  Jackson, 
served  the  Confederacy.  Many  of  the  greatest  families 
in  the  South  proudly  trace  their  origin  back  to  the  blood 
and  loins  of  the  Pilgrim  Fathers.  And  yet  are  there 
people  at  the  North,  newspapers  at  the  North,  that  still 
assume  for  the  North  the  attitude  of  the  imperious  con 
queror,  for  the  South  the  relation  of  the  suspected  cap 
tive,  and  we  are  being  constantly  warned  that  if  we  do 
this,  or  do  not  do  that,  we  shall  be  in  danger  of  the  judg 
ment. 

The  justification  for  this  is  the  political  entity,  the 

partisan  quantity,  known  as  the  Solid  South.     It  is,  let 

me  entreat  you  to  believe,  a  specious  justification.     It  is 

the  fault  of  the  Republican  party,  not  of  the  white 

444 


Blood  Thicker  than   Water 

people  of  the  Southern  States,  that  the  South  is  solidly 
Democratic.  From  the  death  of  Lincoln  to  the  advent 
of  McKinley  the  Republican  party  threw  out  no 
friendly  signal  to  the  whites  of  the  South,  made  no 
effort  to  establish  itself  in  the  South  on  any  sound,  en 
during  basis.  It  was  known  to  the  South  only  through 
its  reconstruction  measures,  mainly  repressive  and  hos 
tile,  and  its  local  agents,  generally  extreme,  too  often 
unclean,  employing  the  negro  vote  as  a  simple  asset  in 
Congress,  in  Republican  national  conventions,  and  in 
the  field  of  the  Federal  patronage.  In  most  of  the 
Southern  States  there  seemed  a  deliberate  plan  to  trim 
the  Republican  minority  among  the  whites  down  to  the 
point  of  just  about  filling  the  Federal  offices  precisely  as 
in  the  old  antediluvian  days  of  pristine  Democracy,  and 
under  the  lead  of  that  past-grand-master  of  political 
chicane,  General  Benjamin  F.  Butler,  the  Democratic 
party  of  New  England  was  trimmed  and  regulated. 
No  thought  was  given  the  predilections,  the  prejudices, 
the  interests  of  the  great  body  of  the  white  population. 
It  was  years  after  the  war  before  such  men  as  Meredith 
Gentry  were  permitted  to  vote,  while  their  former 
slaves  were  marched  in  droves  to  the  ballot-box  by 
political  adventurers  sure  to  misgovern  when  intrusted 
with  power.  Even  these  things  might  have  passed  out 
of  mind,  except  that,  whenever  the  chance  has  arisen, 
the  old  agitation  has  been  revived  by  the  menace  of 
force  bills  to  regulate  elections  by  Federal  statute,  and 
445 


The  Compromises  of  Life 

measures  to  reduce  the  Southern  representation  in  Con 
gress  ;  all,  under  the  shadow — by  reason  of  the  shadow 
— cast  by  the  unconsenting,  unoffending  black  man 
athwart  the  whole  track  of  American  politics  from 
Maine  to  Texas.  This  brings  me  to  the  only  apparent 
cause  of  present  disturbance — the  bee  in  our  bonnet — 
the  fly  in  our  ointment — the  everlasting,  ever-present 
negro  question. 

I  grew  up  to  regard  the  institution  of  African  slavery 
as  a  monstrous  evil.  With  a  gray  jacket  on  my  back,  I 
abated  no  part  of  my  abhorrence  of  it.  The  war  over, 
I  fully  realized  that  the  negro  could  not  be  suspended, 
like  Mahomet's  coffin,  in  the  nether  air,  neither  fish, 
flesh,  nor  fowl ;  that  he  must  be  made  a  freeman  in  fact, 
as  he  was  in  name;  that  he  must  be  habilitated  to  his 
new  belongings,  and  I  promptly  accepted  the  three  last 
amendments  to  the  Constitution  as  the  treaty  of  peace 
between  the  North  and  the  South,  and  went  to  work  in 
good  faith  to  help  carry  them  out.  I  fought  to  remove 
the  old  black  laws  from  the  statute  book  in  Kentucky. 
I  fought  the  Ku-Klux  Klan  from  start  to  finish.  I 
fought  in  all  possible  ways  to  give  the  black  man  an 
opportunity  to  achieve  the  hopes  which,  in  common  with 
many  other  of  his  friends,  I  had  formed  of  him. 

After  thirty  years  of  observation,  experience,  and  re 
flection — always  directed  from  a  sympathetic  point  of 
view — I  am  forced  to  agree  with  the  Secretary  of  War 
that  negro  suffrage  is  a  failure.  It  is  a  failure  because 
446 


Blood  Thicker  than   Water 

the  Southern  blacks  are  not  equal  to  it.  It  is  a  failure 
because  the  Southern  whites  will  not  have  it. 

If,  making  a  hot  answer  to  this,  some  overzealous 
and,  as  I  must  think,  some  mistaken  partisan  should 
say,  we  have  the  power,  we  have  the  numbers,  and  we 
will  compel  the  whites  of  the  South,  my  answer  shall 
be,  "You  did,  and  behold  what  came  of  it!"  And 
then,  if  my  warm-blooded  friend  should  throw  up  his 
hands  in  despair,  and  with  a  kind  of  disgust  turn 
wearily  away,  I  should  continue — "May  you  not  have 
been  from  the  first  upon  the  wrong  tack?  Is  there 
not  another  outlet  to  these  perplexities,  another  solu 
tion  of  this  problem?  After  all,  is  not  your  dis 
quietude  based  upon  the  idea  that  there  are  one  set 
of  moral  conditions  at  the  North  and  another  set  at 
the  South,  to  which  the  whole  racial  trouble  is  refer 
able?  Believe  me,  there  is  no  such  difference.  Re 
move  every  white  Democrat  to-day  living  in  the  South 
and  replace  him  with  a  Northern  Republican,  and 
twelve  months  hence  the  conditions  will  be  the  same, 
may  be  worse,  since  the  Northern  Republican  would 
not  be  likely  to  have  either  the  patience  or  the  per 
sonal  sympathy  and  knowledge  possessed  by  the  native 
Southerner." 

Gentlemen,   I    appeal   to   you   as   Republicans,    and 

through  you  I  appeal  to  the  Republicans  of  the  United 

States,  to  have  done  with  the  conceit  that  unless  you 

stand  by  the  black  man,  that  unless  you  continue  him 

447 


The   Compromises  of  Life 

as  an  issue  in  partisan  politics,  injustice  will  be  done 
him.  In  the  bettering  of  his  condition,  and  in  the  ac 
quisition  of  property,  starting  with  nothing,  he  has 
made  wondrous  progress  the  last  five-and-thirty  years ; 
and,  relatively,  greater  progress  at  the  South  than  at 
the  North.  He  could  not  have  done  this  without  the 
sympathy  and  co-operation  of  the  Southern  whites.  He 
has  made  little  progress  in  the  arts  of  self-government 
either  North  or  South,  because  of  the  agitation  which 
has  kept  him  in  a  state  of  perpetual  excitement,  with 
no  healthful  public  opinion  to  moderate  it,  and  has 
been  made  the  sport  and  prey  of  political  exigency, 
always  selfish,  and  with  respect  to  him  more  or  less 
visionary  and  heedless. 

The  negro  can  never  become  in  any  beneficent  or 
genuine  sense  an  integral  and  recognized  part  of  the 
body  politic  except  through  the  forces  of  evolution, 
which  are  undoubtedly  at  work,  but  which  in  the 
nature  of  the  case  must  needs  go  exceedingly  slow. 
Where  there  is  one  negro  fit  for  citizenship,  there  are 
myriads  of  negroes  wholly  unfit.  The  hot-house 
process  has  been  tried  and  it  has  failed.  If,  invested 
with  every  right  enjoyed  by  the  whites,  the  blacks, 
gaining  in  all  things  else,  have  brought  corruption  into 
the  suffrage  and  discredit  upon  themselves,  is  it  not  a 
kind  of  madness  further  to  press  artificial  methods, 
which,  however  justified  theoretically  from  educational 
lookouts  in  Michigan,  Iowa,  and  Wisconsin,  fall  help- 
448 


Blood  Thicker  than   Water 

less  to  the  ground  in  their  practical  application  to  the 
semi-barbarous  toilers  in  the  cotton-fields  and  corn- 
lands  of  Alabama,  Georgia,  and  South  Carolina? 

I  appeal  to  you  equally  in  what  I  conceive  the  true 
interest  of  the  black  people  along  with  the  white  peo 
ple  of  the  South;  nay,  and  of  the  North  as  well,  for 
all  our  interests  are  indissoluble,  interchangeable,  and 
that  can  never  be  good  or  bad  for  one  section  which 
is  not  good  or  bad  for  the  other  section.  Modern  in 
vention,  which  has  already  annihilated  time  and  space, 
is  surely  erasing  sectional  lines.  It  ought  not  to  leave 
so  much  as  a  reminiscence  of  sectional  strife.  If  that 
dread  spirit  should  come  again,  its  evil  winds  will  not 
blow  between  the  North  and  the  South,  but  between 
the  East  and  the  West;  the  horns  of  the  dilemma  pre 
sented  by  extremism  involving  a  new  irrepressible  con 
flict  between  capital  and  labor.  May  that  day  never 
come,  but  in  case  it  does  the  conservatism  of  the  North 
will  need  the  conservatism  of  the  South.  The  law-lov 
ing  forces  of  the  North  will  need  the  law-breeding  in 
stincts  of  the  South.  The  Americanism  of  the  North 
will  need  the  Americanism  of  the  South.  Then,  in 
deed,  shall  both  sections  learn  what  racial  homogeneity 
means  and  know  for  certain  that  blood  is  thicker  than 
water. 

But,  gentlemen,  let  us  turn  away  from  the  darker 
side   of   the   page   to   the   brighter,   on   which   is  em 
blazoned  that  blessed  legend,  "The  Constitution  and 
449 


The  Compromises  of  Life 

the  Union,  one,  eternal,  indivisible."  Behind  the 
negro  question,  behind  the  question  of  capital  and  la 
bor,  stands  the  government  of  Washington  and  Frank 
lin,  which,  like  the  old  ship  of  Zion,  has  "carried 
many  thousands,  and  shall  carry  many  more";  which, 
like  the  old  ship  of  Zion,  has  baffled  every  tempest,  has 
outridden  every  hurricane;  the  struggle  for  existence; 
the  foreign  war;  domestic  discord  and  civil  strife;  the 
disputed  succession — stronger  to-day  than  ever  before 
— in  the  timbers  that  float  her — in  the  hearts  that  sail 
her — in  the  admiration  and  confidence  of  human  kind 
the  wide  world  over.  I  have  seen  too  much  of  the 
past  to  take  many  fears  for  the  future.  I  counsel  no 
man  to  drop  the  oars  and  to  go  to  sleep;  I  urge  upon 
each  still  to  keep  the  watch,  still  to  sit  steady  in  the 
boat;  as  for  myself,  I  long  ago  ceased  to  worry  and 
to  walk  the  floor.  The  mysteries  of  Providence  are 
hidden  from  you  and  me;  why  the  negro  was  brought 
hither  from  the  wilds  of  Africa  and  sold  into  slavery, 
his  redemption  thence,  and  all  his  redemption  cost  us; 
but,  assured  that  behind  these  mysteries  lay  some  vast 
design,  I  feel  that  God  has  been  always  with  us  and 
is  with  us  now.  Why  Washington,  the  patriot,  in 
stead  of  Lee,  the  adventurer?  Why  Lincoln,  the  seer, 
instead  of  Seward,  the  scholar?  If  it  was  not  the  will 
of  Heaven  that  the  Confederacy  should  fall,  that  the 
Union  should  prevail,  why  were  all  the  accidents  of 
the  war  with  the  North  and  against  the  South,  the 
450 


Blood  Thicker  than  Water 

fall  of  Johnston  at  the  critical  moment  at  Shiloh,  the 
death  of  Jackson  at  the  critical  moment  in  the  valley 
of  Virginia,  the  arrival  at  the  critical  moment  of  the 
Monitor  in  the  waters  of  Hampton  Roads?  If  it  be 
not  the  will  of  Heaven  that  we  shall  carry  the  Chris 
tian's  message  of  freedom  and  civilization  to  the  ends 
of  the  earth,  why  did  not  the  Lord  send  Dewey  home  ? 
No,  no,  gentlemen;  as  God  was  radiant  in  the  stars 
that  shone  over  Washington  at  Valley  Forge,  over 
Lincoln  at  Gettysburg,  over  Grant  in  the  Wilderness, 
over  the  fleets  in  Manila  Bay,  and  the  "bullies"  in  front 
of  Santiago,  does  His  radiance  shine  upon  us,  brothers 
in  blood  and  arts  and  arms,  whether  our  knees  go  down 
amid  the  snows  or  the  flowers.  Long  ago  the  South, 
forgiving  all,  accepted  the  verdict  in  perfect  faith.  It 
is  for  the  North,  forgetting  all,  to  seal  it  in  perfect 
love. 


451 


APPENDIX 

CERTAIN  DOWNWARD  TENDENCIES  IN 
THE  SMART  SET  OF  FASHIONABLE 
SOCIETY 


453 


A  FLOCK  OF  UNCLEAN  BIRDS 
Courier-Journal,  August  23,  1902. 

The  Smart  Set  contrive  to  keep  themselves  before  the 
public.  Yet,  somehow,  it  is  their  scandals,  not  their 
benefactions,  that  advertise  them.  But  yesterday  it 
was  an  automobile  tragedy  that  recalled  the  infelicities 
and  vulgarities  of  a  family  which,  except  for  its  mill 
ions,  would  have  decorated  the  criminal  instead  of  the 
social  annals  of  its  time.  To-day's  sensation  relates  to 
an  off-shoot  of  one  of  the  oldest  and  richest  of  what 
the  shoddy  aristocracy  delight  to  call  "our  American 
houses."  .  .  . 

Now  comes  the  Remington  suicide.  .  .  .  And 
so  it  goes.  We  never  hear  of  the  Four  Hundred  except 
it  be  a  murder,  a  suicide,  or  a  divorce.  A  shot  fired 
into  a  flock  of  these  unclean  birds  cannot  miss  hitting 
an  injured  husband,  a  recreant  and  disgraced  wife,  or 
at  the  least  some  gilded  nincompoop,  who  expects  to 
offset  his  bad  manners  and  worse  English  with  his 
bulky  bank-book ! 


APPROACHING  THE  LIMIT 

Courier- Journal,  September  3,  1902. 

The  wheel  of  life,  the  whirligig  of  time,  bringeth 
not  merely  revenges,  according  to  the  adage,  to  the  re 
vengeful,  but  grist  to  the  Yellow  Journals;  for  each 
day  of  the  year  has  its  scandals  and  its  tragedies;  some 
rowdy-dow  among  the  smart  set  at  Newport;  some 

455 


Appendix 


bloody  deed  lower  down  in  the  elbowing  slums;  with 
Pierpont  Morgan,  May  Yohe,  Schwab,  and  Gates  for 
routine  consumption — stock  in  trade,  as  it  were,  and 
very  watered  stock — in  case  the  morgue  yields  not  its 
victim,  nor  the  Four  Hundred  its  divorce. 

What  a  rich  morsel  was  that  little  affair  of  the  auto- 
mobilists  near  Paris,  and  how  the  sensation-mongers 
dwell  upon  the  succeeding  settlements!  Thursday,  the 
Smith  family  got  half-a-million,  according  to  the  San 
Francisco  correspondents.  Friday,  the  sum  agreed 
upon  had  reached  a  million.  Since  nobody  knows  any 
thing  about  it — even  to  the  point  whether  there  has  been 
any  settlement  at  all — it  might  as  well  be  five  millions 
as  one  million.  Indeed,  until  the  subject  grows  entirely 
stale,  or  is  succeeded  and  obscured  by  another  tragedy 
or  scandal,  we  shall  have  all  sorts  of  stories,  big  and  lit 
tle,  for  the  edification  of  the  prurient  and  morbid,  and, 
then,  each  correspondent  will  undo  his  own  work  and 
do  it  over  again.  That  is  Yellow  Journalism. 

As  a  matter  of  course,  there  is  a  market  for  such  stuff. 
Since  a  fool  is  born  every  minute,  the  itch  to  be  hum 
bugged  will  probably  never  die.  Yet  more  and  more 
the  public  is  being  educated  to  discriminate  between  the 
contents  of  the  decent,  healthy,  reliable  daily  news 
paper,  keeping  constant  faith  with  its  readers,  and  the 
organ  of  the  fancy,  the  dive-keeper's  own,  with  its  filthy 
appeals  to  the  vulgar  and  the  vicious,  its  lies  of  yester 
day  contradicted  by  the  events  of  to-day,  its  sprawling 
headlines,  inculcating  equally  bad  morality  and  gram 
mar.  In  the  great  cities  the  best  paying  newspapers  are 
the  cleanest. 

The  Yellow  Journal  lives  on  offal.  The  time  will 
come  when  it  will  be  relegated  to  the  back  alleys  and 
the  dark  places  of  the  world,  even  the  kitchen  scullion 
and  the  street  gamin  preferring  to  get  their  information 
"straight."  Thus,  in  quickening  the  reaction  against 

456 


Appendix 


itself,  the  Yellow  Journal  does  an  unconscious  and  an 
unintentioned  service.  There  is  a  limit  to  sensational 
ism  as  well  as  to  indecency,  and  that  limit  has  been 
very  nearly  reached.  Meanwhile,  down  with  to-day's 
newspaper,  half  of  whose  "news"  has  to-morrow  either 
to  be  contradicted  or  ignored. 


THOSE  UNCLEAN  BIRDS  AGAIN 

Courier- Journal,  September  4,  1902. 

Commenting  on  some  observations  which  lately  ap 
peared  in  these  columns  touching  the  Four  Hundred,  so 
called,  the  San  Francisco  Bulletin  says  that  they  are 
"intemperate,"  even  for  one  whom  it  describes  as  habitu 
ally  "fiery,"  and  then  our  esteemed  contemporary  comes 
to  the  rescue  of  that  Flock  of  Unclean  Birds  with  these 
deprecatory  remarks: 

"Now,  the  'Four  Hundred*  has  its  faults  as  a  set,  and 
there  are  black  sheep  enough  within  its  folds  ;  but  it  is  hardly 
right  or  fair  for  Mr.  Watterson  to  apply  to  the  entire  set  what 
is  true,  or  partly  true,  of  only  a  portion  of  the  set.  In  the 
first  place,  the  Four  Hundred'  is  the  creation  of  the  press 
and  of  the  vulgar.  The  'Four  Hundred'  is  a  coterie  of 
people  who  keep  themselves  apart  and  aloof  from  the  rest  of 
the  population,  and  call  themselves  the  best  society.  Unless 
the  press  and  the  vulgar  recognized  them  as  the  best  society, 
their  styling  themselves  such  would  be  as  ridiculous  as  the 
attempt  of  a  group  of  inmates  of  a  poor-house  or  a  prison  to 
form  an  exclusive  and  best  society.  But  the  press  and  the 
vulgar  do  recognize  the  'Four  Hundred'  as  the  best  or  high 
est  society  in  the  country,  and  the  very  publicity  given  to  the 
action  of  its  members — nay,  even  Mr.  Watterson' s  editorial 
— is  homage  to  the  pre-eminent  social  position  of  the  'Four 

457 


Appendix 


Hundred.'  The  people  who  revile  the  'Four  Hundred'  for 
its  extravagances  and  scandals  are  the  ones  who  call  it  the 
best  society,  and  never  miss  an  opportunity  to  bask  in  its 
light." 

We  at  once  take  issue  with  our  critic  as  to  his  "facts." 
The  "400"  may  be  "a  creation  of  the  press  and  of  the 
vulgar,"  but  they  are  not  recognized  by  any  competent 
tribunal  as  "the  best  society."  Nor  is  it  true  that,  if 
they  were  not  so  recognized,  their  attempt  thus  to 
classify  themselves  would  be  "as  ridiculous  as  the  at 
tempt  of  a  group  of  inmates  of  a  poor-house  or  a  prison 
to  form  an  exclusive  and  best  society."  Such  a  proposi 
tion  is  absurd  on  the  face  of  it.  It  is  libellous  to  say 
that  "the  people  who  revile  the  400  .  .  .  are  the 
ones  who  call  it  the  best  society  and  never  miss  an  op 
portunity  to  bask  in  its  light."  Indeed,  there  is  but  one 
true  statement  in  the  passage  quoted,  to  wit,  that  "the 
400  is  a  coterie  of  people  who  keep  themselves  apart  and 
aloof  from  the  rest  of  the  population  and  call  themselves 
the  best  society." 

In  a  country  like  ours,  where  there  are  no  titles,  nor 
patents  of  nobility,  nor  fixed,  official  insignia  of  rank, 
wealth  is  bound  to  set  the  pace,  if  not  the  standards,  in 
what  is  called  "Society."  But,  even  in  Europe,  where 
titular  and  caste  distinctions  exist,  there  are  good  society 
and  bad  society,  very  markedly  separate. 

The  term  Smart  Set  was  adopted  by  the  bad  society  of 
London  to  escape  a  more  odious  description.  The  dis 
tinguishing  trait  of  the  Smart  Set  is  its  moral  insensi 
bility.  It  makes  a  business  of  defying  and  overleaping 
conventional  restraints  upon  its  pleasures  and  amuse 
ments.  Being  titled,  as  a  rule,  and  either  rich  in  fact,  or 
getting  money  how  it  may,  it  sets  itself  above  all  law, 
both  human  and  divine.  Its  women  are  equally  de 
praved  with  its  men.  They  know  all  the  dirt  the  men 

458 


Appendix 


know.  They  talk  freely  with  the  men  of  things  for 
bidden  the  modest  and  the  virtuous;  that  passing  freely 
vis-a-vis,  or  at  table,  which  was  once  excluded  as  un 
clean  by  gentlemen  from  the  smoking-room.  They  read 
the  worst  French  fiction.  They  see  the  worst  French 
plays.  The  very  question  of  sex  becomes  interchange 
able,  and  sometimes  it  is  the  Sissy  Earl,  and  always  the 
Horsey  Girl,  who  kicks  out  of  traces  and  drags  the 
Set  through  the  mire.  Beginning  with  the  Tichborne 
trial,  and  the  publication  of  all  its  unsavory  details, 
quickly  followed  by  the  vile  incidents  of  the  Dilke  and 
the  Colin  Campbell  trials,  an  entire  generation  has  been 
familiarized  with  nastiness;  the  divorce  court  serving 
as  a  very  pest-house  of  immoral  knowledge. 

The  women  of  this  Smart  Set  no  longer  pretend  to 
recognize  virtue  even  as  a  feminine  accomplishment. 
Innocence  is  a  badge  of  delinquency,  a  sign  of  the  crude 
and  raw,  a  deformity,  which,  if  tolerated  at  all,  must 
can/  some  promise  of  amendment;  for,  among  these 
titled  Cyprians,  the  only  thing  needful  is  to  know  it  all ! 
In  London  and  in  Paris — at  Monte  Carlo  in  the  win 
ter,  at  Trouville  and  Aix  in  the  summer — they  make  of 
life  one  unending  debauch;  their  only  literary  proven 
der,  when  they  read  at  all,  the  screeds  of  D'Annunzio 
and  Bourget;  their  Mecca,  the  roulette  table  and  the 
race-course;  their  Heaven  the  modern  yacht,  with  its 
luxury  and  isolation.  The  ocean  tells  no  tales ;  and,  as 
the  Smart  Set  knows  no  law,  when  in  extremis,  it  can 
go  to  sea. 

The  Smart  Set  in  America  take  their  cue,  along  with 
their  title,  from  the  Smart  Set  of  Europe.  Behold 
them  at  the  Horse  Show  in  New  York.  Regard  them 
at  the  swell  resorts  after  the  show.  Their  talk — such 
as  can  be  heard — stocks  and  bonds,  puts  and  calls, 
horses,  scandals,  and  dogs.  They,  the  "best  society" — 
Good  Lord !  Yet  says  their  Occidental  organ : 

459 


Appendix 


"Nor  is  the  'Four  Hundred'  quite  so  bad  as  it  is  pictured. 
When  a  couple  in  the  very  smart  set  are  divorced  the  papers 
make  a  huge  display  and  outcry  and  everybody  talks  about  it. 
But  divorces  among  obscurer  people,  who  reckon  themselves 
thoroughly  respectable,  are  obtained  quietly  every  day  and 
nothing  said.  Three  or  four  families,  having  attracted  con 
siderable  notoriety  to  themselves,  have  given  the  whole  'Four 
Hundred'  a  bad  name. 

"The  'Four  Hundred'  may  be  made  up  of  snobs,  and 
there  is  certainly  a  fair  proportion  of  fools  in  it,  but  the  ma 
jority  of  the  members  are  pretty  decent  people,  as  people  go, 
and  as  good  as  their  contemners.  At  least,  most  of  them 
have  good  manners  and  a  surface  politeness  which  is  greatly 
in  their  favor.  They  avoid  hurting  the  feelings  of  their  fel 
lows,  they  take  off  their  hats  at  the  right  time,  and  they 
bathe  a  sufficient  number  of  times  in  the  month.  When  one 
of  them  gets  drunk  it  is  his  unhappy  privilege  to  be  written 
up  by  an  indignant  newspaper  man  who  is  down  on  rum  and 
feels  that  his  mission  is  to  reform  the  'Four  Hundred'  by  pre 
cept  if  not  by  example.  When  a  good,  respectable  bourgeois 
has  a  little  spree  no  newspaper  attacks  the  immorality  and  in 
ebriety  of  the  middle  class,  and  when  Farmer  Jones  has  a 
scandal  in  his  family  the  stain  is  not  smeared  over  the  entire 
farming  population  of  the  land. 

"Publicity  carries  a  dreadful  penalty,  and  the  'Four  Hun 
dred'  pays  the  penalty  to  the  full,  with  no  credits  for  good 
behavior.  But  the  'Four  Hundred'  is  preserved  as  a  social 
entity  by  the  publicity  which  its  critics  give  it  and  by  the  spon 
taneous  and  unanimous  consent  of  those  who  recognize  it  as 
the  best  society  and  strive  to  climb  into  its  sacred  enclosure. ' ' 

Perusing  this  one  might  fancy  it  the  homily  of  a  rich 
commoner  nursing  the  hope  of  a  peerage.  He  uses  the 
term  "bourgeois"  and  "middle  class"  with  the  flip 
pancy  of  a  boulevardier,  or  a  cockney.  We  look  again 
to  be  quite  sure  we  are  not  reading  from  some  foreign 

460 


Appendix 


society  sheet,  misprinted  "San  Francisco,  U.  S.  A." 
Truly,  we  have  come  to  a  beautiful  pass  if  the  simper 
ing  Johnnies  and  tough  girls  that  make  Sherry's  and 
Delmonico's  "hum,"  that  irradiate  the  corridors  of  the 
Waldorf-Astoria  with  the  exhalations  of  their  unclean 
lives  and  thoughts,  emulating  the  demi-mondaines  of 
the  Second  Empire,  are  to  be  accepted,  even  by  in 
ference,  as  "the  best  society,"  while  the  good  and  virt 
uous  of  the  land,  even  though  quite  able  to  pay  their 
way  at  home  and  abroad,  must  be  relegated  to  the 
"middle  class,"  and  dismissed  as  simple  "bourgeoisie." 

Yet  this  is  the  effect,  the  morale,  so  to  say,  of  such 
writing  as  that  we  have  quoted. 

Our  esteemed  contemporary  is  mistaken.  Where 
there  is  excessive  wealth  and  the  pride  that  comes  from 
riches,  there  can  be  no  real  good.  The  Smart  Set  is 
rotten  through  and  through.  It  has  not  one  redeeming 
feature.  All  its  ends  are  achieved  by  money,  and 
largely  by  the  unholy  use  of  money.  If  one  of  them 
proposes  to  go  into  politics  he  expects  to  buy  his  way, 
and  the  rogues  who  have  seats  in  Congress,  or  foreign 
appointments  to  sell,  see  that  he  pays  the  price.  If  one 
of  them  wants  to  marry  a  lord  she  expects  to  buy  him, 
and  the  titled  scamps  who  seek  to  recoup  their  broken 
fortunes  see  that  she  pays  the  price.  Their  influence  is 
to  the  last  degree  corruptive.  Their  hangers-on  and  re 
tainers  are  only  such  as  money  will  buy.  Nine  out  of 
every  ten  of  the  fortunes  behind  them  will  not  bear 
scrutiny ;  when  it  was  not  actually  got  by  foul  means,  it 
yet  goes  back  to  the  grimiest  antecedents,  the  washtub 
and  the  stable  yard,  as  in  truth  do  many  of  the  foreign 
titles  which  are  so  attractive  to  the  nouveaux  riches. 
Shall  the  press  not  exclaim  against  them  without  sub 
jecting  itself  to  the  allegation  of  being  mainly  responsi 
ble  for  their  existence?  Shall  the  pulpit  not  thunder 
against  them  without  having  some  'Frisco  oracle  of 

461 


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fashion  rise  up  and  say,  "They  are  not  so  bad  after  all !" 
Must  these  unclean  birds  of  gaudy,  and  therefore  of 
conspicuous  plumage,  fly  from  gilded  bough  to  bough, 
fouling  the  very  air  as  they  twitter  their  affectations  of 
social  supremacy  and  no  one  to  shy  a  brick  and  to  cry, 
"Scat,  you  devils!" 

Revise  thy  judgments,  brother  of  the  Setting  Sun, 
and  bless  thy  God  that  the  "middle  class,"  of  which 
thou  speakest  so  loosely;  the  "bourgeoisie,"  with  such 
unflattering  levity;  have  no  existence  in  this  great  land 
of  ours  outside  thine  own  disturbed  fancy ;  but  that  from 
land's  end  to  land's  end,  beginning  with  the  rock-ribs  of 
the  coast  of  Maine  and  ending  not  this  side  the  Golden 
Gate  and  the  Coronado,  there  are  myriads  of  cheerful, 
comfortable  homes  where  "Dad,"  and  "Mam,"  and 
"Granny,"  yea,  and  "Molly,"  and  "Polly,"  and 
"Susey,"  and  "Sis,"  lead  clean  and  wholesome  lives, 
happy  in  their  ignorance  of  evil  such  as  in  the  mouths 
of  the  Smart  Set  is  familiar  as  household  words;  not 
merely  honest,  brawny  people,  who  work  for  a  living, 
and  would  scorn  to  have  any  earls  or  marquises  sitting 
around  on  their  cracker  barrels,  but  educated,  cultivated 
people,  with  plenty  of  money  for  all  the  reasonable  lux 
uries  and  adornments  of  life,  who  would  blush  to  sit  at 
table  with  these  unclean  birds  and  to  listen  to  their 
chatter. 

If  we  are  to  be  rescued  from  an  aristocracy  of  money 
— from  an  untitled  plutocracy  as  heartless  as  it  is  vul 
gar — the  line  should  be  clearly  drawn.  It  should  be 
constantly  drawn.  It  is  enough  for  the  poor  devil  who 
gets  drunk  that  he  is  led  away  to  the  calaboose.  The 
same  for  the  millionaire,  with  this  added,  that,  in  pro 
portion  as  he  sets  himself  up  for  something,  he  pays  the 
increased  assessment  upon  his  assumption.  Likewise 
the  debauched  husband  and  the  guilty  wife;  and  all 
who  think  they  are  rich  enough  to  defy  the  command- 

462 


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merits  of  God  and  the  conventions  of  man,  or  buy  im 
munity  from  the  consequences  of  lawless  indulgence. 

A  very  rich  man  was  reported  not  long  ago  to  have 
said  that  he  would  be  ashamed  to  face  the  courts  of 
Heaven  with  only  his  millions  to  pay  his  entrance  fee. 
Another  declared  that  the  time  is  coming  when  excessive 
riches  will  need  to  make  apology  for  their  existence. 
That  such  sentiments  find  expression  in  such  quarters 
is  of  good  augury.  They  should  be  supported,  not  un 
dervalued  and  decried.  There  is  a  way  of  making  the 
money  standard  odious,  and  that  is  by  making  its  corrupt 
and  corrupting  use  odious.  The  Smart  Set  are  a  living 
reproach  to  riches.  They  furnish  a  striking  example  of 
the  base  use  of  wealth.  Make  their  haunts  of  luxury 
and  alimony  not  only  infamous,  but  uncomfortable; 
drive  their  murderous  White  Ghosts  and  Red  Rovers 
and  Purple  Assassins  from  the  speedways;  put  such  a 
brand  upon  their  nomenclature  that  each  individual  will 
have  to  outlive  it,  making  his  own  separate  record  for 
good  and  not  for  evil,  and  in  another  generation  we  shall 
see,  at  least,  less  brutal  parvenuism  and  ostentatious  dis 
play  for  the  perversion  of  the  young,  if  not  cleaner  con 
ditions  in  the  parent  nest. 

THE     SMART     SET,     THE     NEWSPAPERS, 
AND  THE  TRUTH 

Courier- Journal,  September  17,  1902. 

When  Ward  McAllister,  a  rather  absurd,  but  yet  a 
well-born,  gentleman,  invented  the  Four  Hundred,  it 
was  his  purpose — two  parts  flunky  and  one  part  flam — 
to  pay  a  kind  of  obeisance  to  certain  families  supposed 
to  be  rich  enough  to  form  a  court-circle  in  the  great  and 
growing  city  of  New  York. 

463 


Appendix 


That  was  five-and-twenty  years  ago.  There  were 
many  who  laughed  both  at  him  and  his  conceit.  There 
were  some  who  seriously  accepted  the  homage  intended. 
Perhaps  very  few  thought  that  the  imaginary  lines  thus 
established  in  the  mind's  eye  of  a  rather  solemn  bon 
vwant,  who  lived  high  and  died  poor,  would  come  to  be 
the  boundaries  of  an  actual  territory;  a  newly  discov 
ered  country  as  fantastic  as  Wonderland ;  with  laws  of 
its  own,  inhabitated  by  a  people  marked,  quoted,  and 
signed  for  deeds  of  strenuous  frivolity;  an  aristocracy 
without  a  pedigree;  a  Cercle  de  Rambouillet  without 
wit  or  humor. 

In  the  good  old  days  when  Bret  Harte  was  a  social 
as  well  as  a  literary  lion,  and  Mark  Twain  was  consid 
ered  equal  to  extracting  sunbeams  from  cucumbers,  the 
dinners  were  in  solid  virtues  worth  what  they  paid  for 
them  in  mirth-provoking  jokes;  the  diners  were  dull, 
but  respectable;  Chauncey  being  grand  chamberlain 
and  toast-master  in  ordinary.  What  is  now  called 
Lower  Fifth  Avenue  could  not  be  described  as  Mr. 
Dooley  recently  described  Newport,  "the  abode  of 
luxury  and  alimony,"  where  "the  husband  of  yesterday 
inthradooces  the  wife  that  was  to  the  wife  that  is,  or 
ought  to  be."  In  the  beginning  it  was  a  stiff-necked, 
high-backed  affair.  Having  its  abutment  on  Washing 
ton  Square,  there  were  then,  as  there  still  are — around 
that  genteel,  comfort-breeding  rectangle — plain,  brick 
walls,  with  white  facings,  to  which  scandal  was  a 
stranger;  habitations  that  went  by  the  name  of  home; 
the  homes  of  the  Coopers,  the  Duncans,  the  Rhine- 
landers,  the  Hewitts,  the  Garners,  the  Thorndikes; 
solid  folk,  who,  if  not  as  rich  as  the  elder  Astors,  were 
rich  enough,  and  vied  with  the  Astors  in  lives  singularly 
clean  and  habits  wholly  unostentatious.  They  form 
to-day  the  basis  of  what  may  fairly  be  called  good  so 
ciety.  Accuse  one  of  them  of  being  of  the  Four  Hun- 

464 


Appendix 


dred  and,  if  you  do  not  offer  an  insult,  you  perpetrate 
a  solecism. 

Mr.  Devery  leads  the  four  hundred  of  the  slums. 
Who  leads  the  four  hundred  of  the  upper  crust?  It 
matters  little ;  but  wherein  shall  we  seek  for  any  moral 
difference  in  point  of  immoral  influence  that  does  not 
lean  to  the  side  of  Devery? 

II 

It  was  all  on  account  of  moving  uptown.  It  began 
with  the  sudden  wealth  of  which  war  is  the  progenitor. 
As  long  as  the  average  New  Yorker  had  to  work  for  his 
living  and  got  his  riches  by  the  sweat  of  his  brow,  money 
had  equally  a  character  and  a  value.  When  Union 
Square  was  fenced  round  by  a  wooden  paling  and  the 
site  of  the  Fifth  Avenue  Hotel  was  yet  a  frog-pond,  not 
a  shop  above  Houston  Street  in  Broadway — the  old 
red-brick  Roosevelt  mansion  at  what  is  now  Dead 
Man's  Curve,  a  kind  of  advance-guard  of  the  march 
northward — the  grandees  of  Gotham  were  content  to 
live  in  brown-stone  fronts  as  like  one  to  another  as  two 
of  a  kind ;  and  they  lived  exceeding  well.  They  could 
tell  the  difference  between  Crow  Whiskey  and  Rain 
water  Madeira.  They  played  whist,  not  bridge.  Grace 
Church,  indeed,  seemed  to  have  a  little  more  ruffle  than 
shirt  to  it ;  but  there  were  other  places  of  worship,  and 
they  were  not  ill-attended.  But,  about  the  time  the 
equestrian  statue  of  the  Father  of  His  Country  went 
up,  and  the  palings  around  Union  Square  came  down, 
and  the  order  to  "place  his  head  to  the  rising  sun  and 
his  tail  to  Dr.  Cheever's  Church"  was  issued,  the 
nouveaux  riches  of  the  war  came  upon  the  scene;  the 
monotony  of  brown-stone  was  not  good  enough  for 
them ;  what  had  been  the  centre  of  culture  and  fashion 
— the  sober  shades  of  the  Astor  Library,  and  the  orig- 

465 


Appendix 


inal  homestead  in  Astor  Place,  just  around  th'e  corner, 
hard  by  the  Academy,  where  music  was  sometimes 
heard,  the  sombre  gayety,  the  sure-footed,  square-cut 
frivolity  of  Fifth  Avenue  but  a  stone's-throw  away — 
were  given  over  to  Bohemia  and  the  Bohemians ;  greater 
space  and  seclusion,  a  wider  amplitude  of  architectural 
display,  were  required  to  meet  the  bizarre  taste  of  the 
army  contractors  and  the  stock-brokers  and  the  length 
ening  shoddy  line  of  those  who  had  made  a  profit  out 
of  the  opportunities  of  the  time,  shall  we  say  out  of  the 
travail  of  their  country  and  their  countrymen?  So, 
the  uptown  move  began,  and  along  with  it  the  down 
grade  of  fashion. 

With  magical  rapidity  wealth  had  already  started  to 
accumulate;  fortunes  to  be  multiplied;  millionaires  to 
become  as  plentiful  as  blackberries;  common;  not  only 
common  in  quantity,  but  in  quality,  likewise.  Central 
Park  was  made  to  the  very  hands  of  these.  That  they 
should  build  their  grandiose  palaces  near  it  was  inevi 
table. 

In  the  early  seventies  Fisk  stood  for  the  horrid  ex 
ample  just  as  Devery  stands  now.  The  show  was  the 
thing;  the  "turn-out,"  as  they  called  it.  The  Four 
Hundred  had  come  neither  to  their  patrimony  nor  their 
patronymic.  But  they  existed  in  a  crude,  coarse  way, 
expressing  themselves  in  bang-tails  and  shirt-fronts  and 
shiners;  a  trifle  too  brazen  and  noisy,  perhaps,  but  un 
deniably  rich.  The  men  had  not  yet  learned  the  stony 
stare  and  the  brutal  swagger  of  the  bucks  of  the  Jardin 
Mabille  and  the  titled  bruisers  of  the  Argyle  Rooms. 
The  women  were  still  women — God  bless  them! — a 
little  vulgarized  by  so  much  money,  but  ignorant  of  the 
pinchbeck  airs  and  graces  of  the  demi-mondaine  and  the 
unspeakable  dirt  of  London  and  Paris. 

Yet,  then,  as  now,  the  best  people,  no  matter  how 
rich,  turned  silently  aside,  and  gave  them  the  middle  of 

466 


Appendix 


the  road.  The  tragic  end  of  Fisk  was  for  a  time  an 
object  lesson.  It  let  in  a  flood  of  light  and  gave  a 
moment's  pause  to  the  orgy  of  license  which  was  exceed 
ing  its  natural  bounds  and  beginning  to  make  its  influ 
ence  felt  in  dangerous  proximity  to  those  regions  where 
wealth  was  recognized  as  paramount.  It  was  this 
which  secured  the  modification  of  the  Stokes  verdict 
from  death  to  a  short  term  of  imprisonment. 

The  noxious  weed,  however,  had  taken  root.  The 
bucketshop  was  to  become  an  institution,  the  stock 
gambler  a  power,  the  market  as  familiar  to  women  as  to 
men.  Mr.  Carnegie  may  give  all  of  his  millions  to  the 
noblest  works.  The  Messrs.  Rockefeller  may  endow 
a  thousand  schools  and  charities,  while  a  dozen  billion 
aires  may  show  by  their  wise  and  lavish  use  of  money 
how  ill  they  think  of  it  except  as  the  means  of  doing 
good ;  but,  as  the  poor  are  always  with  us,  so  are  the 
vulgarians,  who,  given  money  enough,  set  up  a  volupt 
uous  principality,  call  it  the  Four  Hundred,  and,  hav 
ing  made  sure  of  its  boundaries  and  their  isolation,  pro 
ceed  to  make  their  own  moral  code,  hardly  deigning 
even  to  ask  the  rest  of  the  community,  "What  are  you 
going  to  do  about  it?" 

The  sea-going  palace ;  the  modern  auto ;  the  struggle 
for  equivocal  notoriety;  the  strife  for  titles;  the  eating 
from  the  tree  of  forbidden  knowledge ;  the  aping  of  the 
manners  of  the  foreign  swell  and  the  fancied  great ;  the 
marriage  as  an  experiment  and  the  marriage  of  con 
venience;  the  hot  pursuit  of  pleasure  at  home  and 
abroad — in  short,  the  constant  striving  after  the  osten 
tatious  display  of  wealth  inevitable  to  the  sun-worship 
of  money — these  are  among  the  features  that  distinguish 
the  Four  Hundred  from  other  rich  people,  who  do  not 
need  to  affect  anything,  who  heartily  despise  such  pro 
ceedings,  who,  with  fortunes  secure  and  social  positions 
fixed,  live  without  scandal  and  travel  without  adven- 

467 


Appendix 


ture,  but  whom  the  wantons  of  the  Smart  Set  describe 
as  the  "bourgeoisie." 

In  separating  the  sheep  from  the  goats,  and  properly 
ticketing  the  goats,  shall  one  be  accused  of  blasphemy? 

Ill 

We  produce  a  varied  assortment  of  editorial  expres 
sions  upon  this  general  subject,  with  particular  refer 
ence  to  some  observations  which  lately  appeared  in  these 
columns.  They  are  characteristic.  The  American 
newspaper  is  nothing  if  not  paradoxical.  As  usual,  we 
find  ourselves  accused  by  some  without  discrimination 
and  by  others  dismissed  with  vapid  ebullitions  of  con 
tempt.  In  the  ethics  of  modern  journalism  few  things 
are  so  touching  as  the  disdain  of  the  superior  being  who 
affects  indifference  when  he  cannot  come  to  time,  and 
marks  his  lack  of  sincere  feeling  and  his  incapacity  to 
see  and  tell  the  truth,  by  the  pretense  of  enlightened 
deliberation. 

"We  have  no  defence  to  make,"  says  one,  and  then 
goes  on  defending.  "No  class  has  a  monopoly  of  good, 
or  bad,  qualities,"  says  another,  and,  deprecating  our 
"heat"  and  "undue  excitement,"  proceeds  to  concede 
all  we  have  claimed.  Still  another  works  in  Burke's 
aphorism,  "You  cannot  indict  a  whole  people,"  as  if 
we  had,  or  as  if  these  unclean  birds  were  "a  whole 
people."  Our  article  "must  receive  considerable  mod 
ification,"  declares  a  critic  posing  as  a  jurist,  "before 
persons  who  hold  fact  higher  than  fancy  can  be  ad 
vised  to  read  it,"  the  whole  of  the  writing  thus  dis 
credited  reprinted  elsewhere  in  the  same  paper  to 
disprove  the  assertion  and  invite  perusal.  A  certain 
Cholly  Knickerbocker  actually  pretends  to  give  in  re 
buttal  a  list  of  ladies  and  gentlemen,  persons  of  the 
very  highest  character  and  standing,  leading  noble  and 

468 


Appendix 


useful  lives,  seeking  by  such  a  subterfuge  to  make  it 
appear  that  we  included  in  our  description  everybody 
having  a  picture-gallery  or  holding  a  recognized  place 
in  society.  It  is  very  funny,  but  to  use  a  figure  of  the 
Smart  Set,  it  won't  wash ! 

"All  of  us,  your  ladyship,"  Lord  Brougham  once 
said  to  a  famous  social  leader,  "all  of  us,  as  your 
ladyship  knows,  have  committed  adultery.  But  we 
must  draw  the  line  somewhere;  and,  for  one,  I  fix  it 
at  murder!" 

There  need  be  no  mistaking  the  lines  that  fence  in 
the  Four  Hundred.  Nobody  can  deny,  nor  in  truth 
through  all  the  expressions  called  out  by  our  writing 
do  we  find  any  denial,  of  the  fidelity  of  the  picture 
drawn  by  us.  It  is  the  true,  not  the  scurrilous,  that 
hurts.  At  the  same  time  it  is  a  fact  that  even  in  the 
better  realms  of  luxury  and  wealth  there  is  a  growing 
toleration  of  the  unclean.  Good  people  are  not  so 
shocked  as  they  once  were  by  moral  infractions. 

It  is  observable  that  the  men  drink  less,  at  least  at 
table  and  in  the  public  company  of  women,  than  they 
did  thirty  years  ago.  But  what  the  men  may  have 
gained  in  this  respect  the  women  themselves  have  lost 
by  the  evolution  of  modern  society  and  the  progress 
of  the  desecration  which  that  society  has  given  the  idea 
of  the  new  woman.  It  is  a  doubtful  term  at  best.  If 
we  would  keep  our  women  pure  we  must  keep  them 
ignorant,  if  not  of  evil,  at  least  of  dirt.  But  what 
shall  be  done,  what  can  be  done  with  those  women 
who  insist  upon  knowing  all  that  the  men  know,  and, 
by  a  certain  not  unreasonable  claim  of  equality,  who 
propose  to  keep  up  with  the  masculine  procession,  share- 
and-share  alike  ?  There  is  not  a  conscientious  man,  not 
a  thoughtful  woman,  in  the  society  of  any  of  our  great 
centres  of  population,  who  does  not  mark  with  serious 
apprehension  the  lowering  tendencies  of  the  time;  the 

469 


Appendix 

multiplication  of  frivolous  marriages,  the  desecration 
of  the  marriage  tie,  the  increasing  number  of  scandal 
ous  divorces,  directly  traceable  to  the  spirit  of  lawless 
ness  in  excessive  wealth  and  the  bad  example  of  the 
infamous  but  prosperous  rich.  Yet,  if  we  read  our 
critics  aright,  we  must  not  speak  of  these  things  except 
in  decorous,  half-excusing  whispers.  We  must  not  call 
a  spade  a  spade.  If  we  do,  we  at  once  become  "indis 
creet"  and  "sensational,"  getting  our  information  at 
"second  hand,"  or  else  the  subject  of  some  "pique," 
or  "resentment,"  or,  at  the  very  least,  "ignorant"  and 
"underbred." 

In  certain  circles,  where  money  rules,  and  the  pres 
ence  of  Quality  is  indicated  by  the  absence  of  all  else, 
the  one  unpardonable  sin  is  conviction.  Whatever  else 
you  are,  or  are  not,  you  must  eschew  enthusiasm.  You 
may  deal  in  vulgar  double  entendre;  you  may  back 
bite,  or  lie  outright;  you  may  make  love  to  your 
friend's  wife,  or  inveigle  his  daughter;  but  you  must 
not  be  loud.  The  tone  of  your  voice  must  suit  itself 
to  a  kind  of  drawl  that  is  in  the  very  atmosphere. 
'  'Tis  English,  you  know,"  they  used  to  say,  until  a 
song  made  game  of  that  form  of  expression  and  ex 
pelled  it  from  polite  society.  The  average  newspaper 
seems  thence  to  have  taken  its  cue.  It,  too,  affects  a 
fine  superiority  to  feeling.  Indifference  serves  as  an 
excellent  recourse,  where  either  there  is  no  belief  at 
all,  or  the  incapacity  to  express  it  in  good  round  terms 
of  robust  English.  Imperturbability  takes  the  place  of 
honest  hate  and  scorn.  To  be  in  earnest  is  to  be  ex 
cited;  to  be  plain-spoken  is  to  be  inspired  by  personal 
motives,  and  to  be  personal  is  to  be  "damned."  Is  it 

not  so  ? 

******* 

Back  of  all  this  stands  not  alone  a  great  moral  prob 
lem,  but  a  great  national  and  economic  problem.    The 

470 


Appendix 


pretence  that  we  have  maligned  anybody,  or  spoken 
outside  the  record,  is  a  device  of  the  guilty,  and  their 
newspaper  apologists,  to  hide  behind  the  self-respect 
ing  and  the  virtuous.  It  is  of  the  essence  of  caste  dis 
tinction,  where  the  rule  is,  touch  one,  touch  all ;  a  rule 
which,  during  the  Reign  of  Terror,  brought  thousands 
of  the  inocent  and  the  good  along  with  the  bad  to  the 
guillotine. 

Licentiousness,  like  revolution,  goes  not  backward. 
The  assumption  of  to-day  becomes  the  claim  of  to 
morrow.  In  a  land  where  there  are  no  patents  of 
nobility,  and  where  in  some  sort  money  must  set  the 
standards,  the  rich  themselves,  before  all  others,  should 
look  to  it  that  their  colleagues  in  good  fortune  do  not 
disgrace  the  order — shall  we  say  of  the  Golden  Fleece  ? 
— by  their  disregard  of  common  rights  and  their  indif 
ference  to  public  opinion. 

We  do  not  need  to  institute  any  historic  parallels; 
to  take  to  ourselves  any  lessons  from  ancient  Greece 
and  Rome,  or  modern  France,  suggestive  as  these  may 
be.  He  is  but  a  poor  observer  of  contemporary  life, 
and  no  prophet  at  all,  who  does  not  see  that  the  whole 
trend  of  public  affairs  is  set  toward  an  ultimate  con 
flict  between  the  forces  of  Prerogative,  on  the  one 
hand,  and  the  forces  of  what  the  exclusive  few  delight 
to  call  the  Great  Unwashed  on  the  other  hand;  be 
tween  Capital,  too  often  avaricious  and  grasping,  and 
Labor,  grimy  and  passionate,  and,  left  riderless,  a 
monster  without  a  head.  It  is  beside  the  purpose  to 
say  that  there  are  rich  men  humane,  generous,  chari 
table.  So  are  there  poor  men  patient,  wise,  conserva 
tive.  It  is  with  forces,  not  individuals,  we  shall  have 
to  deal;  and,  though  temporizing  may  postpone  the 
day,  the  day  is  surely  coming  when  it  is  to  be  decided 
who  owns  the  country,  who  controls  the  Government, 
the  aggregations  of  wealth  mainly  piled  up  in  a  single 

471 


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section,  or  the  hewers  of  wood  and  the  drawers  of  wa 
ter  who  do  the  work  and  fight  the  battles  and  pay  the 
taxes,  the  great  commonalty  of  what  Abraham  Lin 
coln  called  "the  plain  people."  Enlightened  men 
would  moderate  that  conflict.  The  scandalous  be 
havior  of  the  conspicuous  rich  plays  directly  to  the  lead 
of  the  extremist  and  the  agitator,  with  unclean  hands 
preparing  the  pick-axe  of  the  leveller  and  the  brand  of 
the  incendiary.  The  indifference  of  the  guild  of  lux 
ury  and  wealth — not  to  mention  the  common  cause 
which  too  many  of  the  worthy  rich  from  a  mistaken 
sense  of  association  make  with  these — is  replete  with 
evil  auguries. 

Human  nature  has  not  much  changed  since  man  be 
came  acquainted  with  it.  That  we  are  yet  upon  the 
ascending  not  the  descending  scale  of  national  devel 
opment  need  not  be  denied.  But  we  live  in  an  ac 
celerated  age,  electricity  having  annihilated  time  and 
space,  and,  the  Latin  races  doomed,  Spain  dead,  Italy 
dying,  France  down  with  an  incurable  disease — the 
causes  before  our  very  eyes — shall  we  not  seek  to  es 
cape  what  seems  to  have  been  the  destiny,  not  so  much 
of  luxury  and  wealth,  as  the  vicious  assumption  of  class 
superiority,  and  the  injustice  of  organized  money,  per 
colating  what  is  called  Society  for  pleasure,  corrupting 
the  fountains  of  the  national  credit  and  honor  for 
profit  ? 

If  such  offenses  as  we  have  set  forth  are  endured 
and  condoned,  how  long  before  that  which  embraces 
but  a  set  becomes  the  distinguishing  mark  of  a  section  ? 
If  the  press  is  so  easily  seduced,  or  misled,  what  must 
it  become  when  it  is  bought  outright?  Look  at  the 
lobby  at  Washington.  Does  it  not  exist?  Yet  are 
there  those  who  will  swear  that  it  is  only  a  figment 
of  partisan  malignity.  It  already  costs  a  million  of 
dollars  to  set  a  Presidential  ticket  in  the  field ;  already 

472 


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a  hundred  thousand  dollars  to  sustain  a  contest  for  a 
seat  in  the  Senate  of  the  United  States ;  how  long  shall 
it  be — the  press  already  defending  the  Four  Hundred 
— before  our  public  men  shall  become  but  a  race  of 
Medician  princes,  without  the  learning  or  the  arts  of 
Florence,  and  the  Presidential  chair  itself  a  simple  com 
modity,  to  be  knocked  down  to  the  highest  bidder? 

The  writer  of  these  lines  has  always  stood  for  the 
decent,  the  stable,  and  the  orderly  in  govenment  and 
life.  He  has  grown  gray  fighting  to  defend  the  altars 
of  public  credit  and  private  honor.  He  would  no  more 
cast  a  stone  into  the  stagnant  pool  of  a  corrupt  social 
fabric  just  to  see  the  scum  rise  to  the  surface  than  he 
would  do  any  other  perilous  and  unclean  thing.  He 
was  drawn  into  this  present  contention  not  of  his  own 
choice.  Yet,  if  he  had  to  make  his  case  before  his 
Maker,  he  would  humbly  represent  that  the  time  has 
come  when  some  voice  loud  enough  to  be  heard  should 
be  raised  against  an  increasing  evil,  having  its  centre 
in  the  thing  called  by  a  most  equivocal  courtesy  the 
Four  Hundred,  and  hope  to  be  forgiven,  in  the  event 
that  his  voice  provoked  a  single  echo  in  response. 


STILL    HARPING   ON    MY   DAUGHTER! 

Courier- Journal,  June  10,  1903. 

The  Pittsburg  Press,  following  in  the  wake  of  those 
melancholy  yet  belated  Danes  of  daily  journalism,  who 
are  saddest  when  they  sing,  as  in  truth  are  those  that 
hear  them,  is  still,  as  our  old  friend  Polonius  observes, 
"harping  on  my  daughter,"  the  particular  daughter  in 
question  being  the  Smart  Set,  so-called  the  Four  Hun 
dred,  of  odious  if  not  of  blessed  memory.  From  a  long, 
double-leaded,  double-column  leading  editorial,  pert, 

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but  prolix,  a  trifle  groggy,  and  a  good  deal  unthoughted, 
we  quote  the  following : 

"What  are  we  going  to  do  with  our  Smart  Set,  particu 
larly  that  conspicuous  portion  of  it  which  moves  and  has  its 
being  in  the  metropolis  and  Newport?  Naturally,  this  is  not 
the  whole  Smart  Set.  There  is  a  Smart  Set  not  only  in  New 
York  but  also  in  Kalamazoo.  Who  that  has  been  in  Sque- 
dunk  has  not  been  impressed  by  the  Squedunk  'Four  Hun 
dred'?  But  it  is  of  the  New  York  Smart  Set  that  Mr. 
Andrew  Carnegie,  and  Dr.  Peabody,  of  Boston,  and  Edward 
Everett  Hale,  all  of  whom  would  have  been  supposed  to  be 
eligible  to  the  Smart  Set  of  any  locality,  despair.  They  may 
not  all  express  their  concern  in  the  manner  of  Henry  Wat- 
terson,  who  would  probably  challenge  to  a  duel  anyone  who 
mistook  him  for  a  'fashionable.'  But  they  unite  in  deploring 
the  tendencies  and  the  aims  and  the  influence  of  the  people 
who  are  by  common  consent  regarded  as  the  leaders  of  the 
most  fashionable  'society'  of  the  country." 

The  reference  here  to  the  editor  of  the  Courier-Jour 
nal,  which  is  a  little  forced — also  nearly  out  of  date — 
represents  what  Charles  Lamb  would  have  called  "a 
case  of  imperfect  sympathy."  The  editor  of  the  Cou 
rier-Journal  is  nothing  if  not  a  "fashionable,"  though 
there  might  be  a  difference  of  opinion  as  to  terms.  At 
least  the  Courier- Journal,  for  whose  contents  he  may 
be  held  accountable,  has  never  yet  been  accused  of  fall 
ing  behind  the  procession,  either  at  home  or  abroad.  In 
London,  in  Paris,  in  the  Borough  of  Manhattan — 
sometimes  in  the  sacred  precincts  of  the  Borough  of 
Brooklyn,  and  often  amid  the  picturesque  fastnesses  of 
the  Borough  of  the  Bronx — the  Smart  Set  call  for  it, 
the  Four  Hundred  cry  for  it.  In  Kentucky  it  is  the 
guide,  philosopher,  and  friend  of  those  Democrats  who 
believe  in  Democracy  unterrified  and  undefiled,  and 

474 


Appendix 


are  still  voting  for  Jefferson,  Jackson,  and  Tilden,  and 
likewise  of  those  Republicans,  who,  in  matters  of  lit 
erature,  science,  and  art — discounting  its  politics  as  at 
the  worse  a  disagreeable  idiosyncrasy — do  not  wish,  cer 
tainly  do  not  mean,  to  be  left  at  the  post. 

If  the  Pittsburg  Press  were  up  to  date — if  it  had  any 
kind  of  style  about  it — surely  it  would  not,  in  speaking 
of  the  editor  of  the  Courier-Journal,  fall  into  the  stu 
pidity  of  picturing  him  as  half-horse  and  half-alligator 
of  the  regulation  variety.  There  is  "no  sich  a  person," 
as  Mrs.  Gamp  might  say;  though  of  this,  more  anon! 
Quoting  Mr.  Andrew  Carnegie,  Dr.  Edward  Everett 
Hale  and  Professor  Peabody  in  identical  corroboration 
of  all  the  Courier-Journal  has  ever  said,  the  Press  pro 
ceeds  thus: 

"It  is  quite  evident,  therefore,  that  the  state  of  affairs  is 
serious.  When  Colonel  Watterson  effervesces,  we  may  per 
haps  pardonably  shrug  our  shoulders  and  go  on  in  the  way 
we  are  going.  But  when  Mr.  Carnegie,  Professor  Peabody, 
and  Edward  Everett  Hale  and  men  of  their  stamp  confess 
their  indignation  and  alarm,  the  evil  must  be  real  and  it  must 
be  pressing.  It  is  to  be  trusted  they  will  continue  raising 
their  potent  voices  as  eloquently  as  they  have  begun.  Men 
of  right  ideas  but  meagre  bank  accounts  may  be  sneered 
down  when  they  venture  to  condemn  the  unworthy  example 
of  youthful  millionaires  who  impudently  set  up  a  golden  calf 
and  find  thousands  eager  to  worship  it.  But  Carnegie,  Pea- 
body,  and  Hale — these  are  men  on  whom  the  best-directed 
sneers  fail  to  leave  their  mark.  When  they  begin  to  turn 
aside  with  righteously  flaming  eyes  from  monkey  parties  and 
other  orgies  supposed  to  be  smart,  many  silly  hands  that  had 
been  rapturously  demonstrative  before  will  suddenly  cease 
their  applause." 

Observing  that  the  "effervescence"  ascribed  to  the 
editor  of  the  Courier-Journal  is  nearly  a  year  old — in- 

475 


Appendix 


dicating  a  tolerably  genuine  brand  of  the  wine  of  truth 
and  soberness — we  have  the  right  to  ask — that  is  to  say, 
if  we  were  speaking  seriously  and  not  facetiously,  we 
should  have  the  right  to  ask — why  that  in  the  editor  of 
the  Courier- Journal,  a  rather  old  hand  at  the  bellows, 
and  therefore  so  reasonably  familiar  with  the  world  at 
large  and  its  passing  events  as  to  be  hardly  capable  of 
surprise  at  anything,  should  be  pictured  as  effervescence, 
which  in  Mr.  Carnegie,  Dr.  Hale,  and  Professor 
Peabody — men  of  scholarship  and  business,  who  have 
had  scant  opportunity  to  attain  a  knowledge  of  the 
wickedness  and  frivolity  of  the  times  they  have  lived  in 
— should  be  heralded  as  the  Ultima  Thule  of  delibera 
tion  and  wisdom? 

The  matter  respecting  the  Smart  Set,  the  Four  Hun 
dred,  to  which  our  Pittsburg  contemporary  goes  out  of 
its  way  to  refer,  appeared  in  the  Courier- Journal  nearly 
a  year  ago.  It  was  germane  to  a  dreadful,  heart-break 
ing  tragedy  at  Newport.  Knowing  the  parties  and  the 
facts,  we  drew  the  line  if  not  at  murder,  at  least  at  sui 
cide.  Having  said  what  seemed  needful  to  be  said,  we 
passed  to  other  scenes  and  other  events.  The  journal 
ist,  like  the  actor,  is  a  creature  of  the  moment,  the 
merest  abstract  and  brief  chronicle  of  the  time,  who, 
dying,  leaves  no  copy.  The  editor  of  the  Courier-Jour 
nal  is  not  a  crusader;  he  is  a  journalist,  instinct  with 
the  sense  of  life,  and  the  reflection  of  its  currencies,  per 
haps  a  little  instinct  with  the  love  of  truth,  assuredly 
not,  as  the  career  of  the  Courier- Journal  will  show,  a 
lover  of  strife,  or  sensations.  He  was  born  in  what  is 
called  society  and  grew  up  in  it  at  Washington  and  New 
York,  living  in  it  somewhat  later  on  in  London  and  in 
Paris  and  even — he  has  no  reason  to  blush  for  admitting 
it — at  Newport.  All  that  he  said  in  what  he  wrote  of 
the  Remington  tragedy  he  personally  knew  to  be  true. 
Every  word  of  it  has  been  more  than  vindicated  by  suc- 

476 


Appendix 


ceeding  events,  and  the  repeated  outgiving  of  others  be 
sides  Mr.  Carnegie,  Dr.  Hale,  and  Professor  Peabody, 
whom  the  Pittsburg  Press  trots  out  as  witnesses  to  its 
own  homilies,  which  are  admirable,  being  little  more 
than  iteration  of  what  was  said  in  these  columns.  So — 
barring  the  duello — does  not  the  writer  of  this  article 
think  that  he  owes  us  an  apology  ? 

Alas  and  alack  the  day!  We  set  out  to  defend  our 
selves  against  a  false  accusation  in  a  mock  court,  with 
the  purpose  of  being  facetious.  We  meant  to  say  a  lot 
of  smart  things  of  the  Smart  Set,  and,  indirectly,  of  our 
esteemed  contemporary,  the  Pittsburg  Press.  The 
words  refuse  to  come  to  us.  We  do  not  mean  to  be 
mawkish,  but  the  dead  face  of  that  young  man  lying 
there  in  the  Casino  at  Newport  comes  back  to  us,  and, 
his  father's  friend  and  schoolmate,  we  cannot  make 
light  of  it.  To  say  truth,  no  sensible  man  could  care 
anything  the  one  way  or  other  about  the  Smart  Set. 
The  Four  Hundred  must  be  to  such  an  one  a  matter  of 
total  indifference.  As  to  the  Courier- Journal,  it  spoke 
out  a  little  indignantly,  perhaps — somebody  gaffed  it, 
and  then  it  struck  out — and  perhaps  it  has  regretted  it 
ever  since  because  it  started  so  many  foolish  pens 
a-going. 

The  Pittsburg  Press  must  not  only  apologize  to  us, 
but  it  must  revise  its  judgment.  Honest  indignation, 
sometimes  aggressively  —  never  unthoughtedly  —  ex 
pressed,  we  own  to;  effervescences — impossible!  How 
could  a  man,  sprung  from  the  ranks  and  yet  able  to  do 
any  kind  of  work  on  the  force,  from  "legs"  up — how 
could  a  cold-nosed  dog,  with  a  life-time  of  newspaper 
experience  behind  him — how  could  a  writer,  jealous  of 
his  parts  of  speech  and  using  the  blue  pencil  at  three  and 
sixty  as  he  used  it  at  three  and  thirty — how  could  such 
a  person  "effervesce"? 


477 


20107 


000  689  028 


